


Octarchy Princes

by hj_pan_cake



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Dark Academia elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, I forgot to tag librarian!San, I probably ought to tag, M/M, Magic, Miscommunication, OT8, Plot holes lmao, Rated M for Sexual Humor and Swearing, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tagged relationships are endgame but like everyone thinks everyone is hot, There’s going to be a lot of Matz because they have me on a leash, This turned into a Fantasy AU parody FAST, Woosan-Centric, Wooyoung is a pianist and a writer but mostly a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hj_pan_cake/pseuds/hj_pan_cake
Summary: Ambrosial fatesfidelity or liechoosing their return to a winter skyIn the candlelit attic of the Choi family library, Wooyoung and San, at the dawn of a burgeoning friendship, discover a peculiar book and a place faraway on a rainy day no different than any other.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 242
Kudos: 123





	1. The Flaxen Librarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW / CW in this chapter:  
> mentions of an aging loved one  
> implications of Alzheimer’s/Dementia

“ _Halmeoni_ , have you taken your medicine?”

Wooyoung’s house slippers make a familiar sound, shuffling through the snug entryway of the kitchen, and into the living room where his grandmother sits by the fireplace in her sturdy, emerald-green chair. 

“Do you want some tea?” Wooyoung adds melodiously. 

She takes up his offer with kind eyes, an open photo album in her weathered clutch. 

Wooyoung’s grandmother has been ill for a year now. 

It has evolved, and progressed, and Wooyoung has been spending a lot of time over at her small home, especially after an inevitable fallout with most of his friends at university.

Wooyoung doesn’t know where people go but they always find a way to leave.

His share house isn’t too far from where his grandmother lives, so it isn’t a hassle, and even if it was, it would be worth it regardless. 

Her cozily cluttered space has a spare bedroom, so Wooyoung stays the night often, because his room in the share house feels industrial, and unwelcoming, even to him. 

There are caramel colors on the streets and in the wind lately, as the weather grows crisper and as the year grows older. 

“…Be careful with the stove and the kettle, Youngie.”

This old home is sewn together by burgundy corduroy and plum wool. It’s a blend of spices and tea leaves and there are flowers, dried and strung by a bundle, hanging on a wall in a brittle reminiscence that Halmeoni has trouble grasping. 

Sometimes, she’ll stare at Wooyoung, almost swept away by a blankness, and the both of them are held in the arms of fear for that moment. She’ll say _Youngie_ as if she had to search for him and Wooyoung will smile even if it hurts and he’ll nod at her and remind her that he’s right here; he’ll be here for her always. 

Wooyoung plays the piano for her. He has played since he was a child, it’s second nature to him at this point, music is in his skin, in the pulsations of his heart. And his grandmother owns a gorgeous spinet piano, built from a humble red cherry wood. 

These days, he carries all of the music in his creased brow, in his temples, until somehow, the magic finds its way through to the calluses on his fingertips.

On his days off from classes, Wooyoung will spend nearly all hours with his grandmother, cleaning and cooking and keeping her company, and he takes midday breaks to visit the library. 

The library on campus is crowded and stressed, so Wooyoung is partial to the Choi Library, for both inspiration and his studies. It’s a renowned family-run property and a historical site of interest in town, but the multitude of rooms and corridors make the building feel spacious, private. 

Wooyoung always parks his old Dutch-style bicycle in front of the brick building, a pretty package tied in an ivy bow.

The quietness that greets you when you first step foot inside of a library has such an appeal, and it’s something that Wooyoung has grown to love. It’s an enveloping intimacy, it’s a peaceful embrace. 

The rows and columns of book spines are artwork after the fashion of a warm patchwork quilt, and the walnut floors are lacquered, the herringbone pattern pointing him north.

To a particular wing of the library.

There’s a nook near the periodicals section with a comfortable armchair that usually becomes Wooyoung’s home for a solid few hours. 

And it’s on Monday afternoons, like yesterday, when he feels antsy behind his books, inquisitive and preoccupied; guaranteed. 

No measurements of peace or quiet can save him because there’s a guy, blonde and as lithe as a dancer, who glides and bustles around silently in the vicinity. 

At first, Wooyoung wasn’t sure if this person was just a frequenter of the library himself, or if this was actually his place of employment. 

He wears tawny glasses with octagon frames. A prussian-blue cashmere sweater hung loosely from his figure the day prior, but the sleeves were pushed up and tight around golden forearms. 

He’s just… a person. That Wooyoung sees on a habitual basis, but doesn’t even know. 

Kind of like the clerk at the grocery store. She’s a sweet-tempered woman in her forties who’s regularly there when Wooyoung stops by to shop. But unlike the clerk, who Wooyoung makes small talk with about the weather and the price of eggs and milk and the occasional mutual disapproval of social constructs, he’s never spoken to the boy at the library. 

With time, the librarian has begun to notice and glance at Wooyoung just as often as Wooyoung catches his focus wandering over to the librarian, and it’s been months of this rosy nonsense. 

He hugs the stack of books in his arms as he’s returning them to their slots on the shelves. He never seems bored or lackluster, he consistently appears to be immersed in his environment, just as striking and irreplaceable as any other ornate detail inside of the paragon establishment.

He was putting a book away near Wooyoung’s chair yesterday when their gazes serendipitously met, and the guy actually froze on the spot. 

He looked a little bit… lost. 

And Wooyoung was somewhat misplaced in the freshwater pool of this individual’s eyes as well.

The librarian collected himself and resumed fumbling with the items in his arms. And slowly, ever so slowly, as Wooyoung continued to watch on, his melting form started slipping where his elbow was supported on the armrest of the chair, until he knocked a large book off of the side table and the booming noise startled everyone nearby, including himself. 

Wooyoung saw several people look over at him and the source of the sound, one of them being the librarian. And in humiliation Wooyoung gathered his things and fled from the area. 

He took refuge in the historical biographies section, just standing there in an unoccupied aisle, not sure what to do with himself. He sighed in defeat, and he was just about ready to leave the premises altogether and never show his face there again, when a gossamer shadow passed right by his hideaway, then doing a double take. 

It was the blonde guy, and he stood in front of Wooyoung, with Wooyoung’s coat in hand.

He inhaled a weighty breath. 

“You left this, I-”

“Oh, shit, thanks- thank you,” Wooyoung said, quickly taking back the garment. 

Wooyoung kept his voice low, and it felt scratchy in his throat. This was the closest he had ever seen the guy; Wooyoung took in the color of his eyes, the shape of his nose. 

“What do you study?” he asked, before Wooyoung could dip and make a swift departure.

They stared at each other. 

“Psychology,” Wooyoung replied. “I’ve been doing research on music and memory….”

The librarian looked like he was shouldering a certain revere. 

“Oh,” he whispered attentively. “Music can take you to places you’ve never been before, and it can also bring you back to a feeling that you knew so well.” 

Wooyoung just nodded in response as he frantically tried to recall the last time a human being made his heart flutter like this.

“…I write fiction too,” Wooyoung explained, “I want to create… cinematography, really strong visuals, but in written work.”

The wallflower’s voice seemed caught in his throat. 

And he was unable to give Wooyoung any further thoughts, as a guest approached them with a hushed _“excuse me”_ and went on to inquire the librarian for assistance. 

He gave Wooyoung an apologetic look, and then Wooyoung left, not entirely empty-handed. 

  
  


Wooyoung recounts all of this from his sprawled position on his grandmother’s old floral sofa. 

It’s an especially sleepy late afternoon following their tea, and Wooyoung’s grandmother croons while flipping through the newspaper. 

Wooyoung stares at the little plaid slippers resting over his feet. 

“Halmeoni… how do you make friends…?”

After a pause, she looks up from behind the paper and wets her lips. 

“…How do I make friends? Or how do _you_ make friends?” she asks. 

“No, like- how is a person supposed to make friends, and keep them.” 

“I met my greatest friends from a book,” she says simply. 

“Oh, a book club. Never considered that,” Wooyoung mumbles, not exactly enlightened or satisfied by that answer.

“Play me a song?” she requests, setting the newspaper aside. “Maybe it’ll jog my memory, help me remember that great old book….”

Wooyoung moans as he rolls off of the sofa but he does so gladly and without hesitation. 

He takes a seat on the bench at the piano, ready to run away with the music, ready to do everything within his power to produce a savory nostalgia, and on the piano’s bones, everything falls into place.

His head of dark chocolate hair is parted down the middle, his fringe sweeping at his eyelids as he plays. 

Listening to the piano, his grandmother will usually sway, or tap her foot, or sometimes the music will unearth a distant point in time that brings her to tears, or she’ll fall asleep for a nap. 

Today, she merely sits there with her hands braided together atop the blanket in her lap, a pleasant and very beautiful smile resting on the maturity of her face. 

Their song ends after an unknown number of minutes pass by, but a ringing echo lingers there with them. 

“You’re a doll,” she tells Wooyoung tenderly. 

Wooyoung’s smile overtakes him, there’s a spark, a light, something firm in his chest clenching cautiously, more than enough to create a memory that he hopes will last him for a long, long time. 

“You know what- I think I will head out to the library.” 

Wooyoung’s grandmother comments on his frequent trips to the library and says some other things about how he “sure does love that library” and Wooyoung grunts bashfully and mutters something about there being no such thing as too much education.

He steams some rice for her before he leaves, sticky white rice with a pinch of sugar on top is her favorite. He checks to make sure that she knows when his cousin is coming over to visit her within the next hour or two, and she gives him the title of her book recommendation. 

It’s going on 4:30 PM when Wooyoung slips into a pair of cinnamon-brown ankle boots, the leather fatigued, laces thinned. His knitted turtleneck is a muted shade of mustard, and he adjusts it underneath a peacoat that he had hanging on the coat rack in the foyer. 

A ten-minute bike ride later finds Wooyoung padding quietly through the stately front doors of Choi library. He delves in directly, weaving in and out of the cathedral arch entryways leading to various sections of fiction. The library has an age about it, but there’s never a cobweb in sight.

Though quickly fading, there’s natural light sailing in from the windows, stained glass and monochrome throughout the entire edifice. The contents resting on the bookshelves are carefully illuminated. If it weren’t for the labels on the endless stained oak shelving, it would be an utter mystery as to what all of these stories contain. 

Wooyoung has little luck in finding the novel that his grandmother mentioned. 

It is an extra challenging search, seeing that she couldn’t remember the name of the author, and Wooyoung feels discouraged, as if yet another way of connecting with his grandmother is being taken away from him. 

He honestly feels kind of butthurt about it. This library has never let him down before. 

He decides to check one more area, but a detour graces him with its presence before he can. 

Tottering down an adjacent passageway, pushing a cart stacked with books, is the librarian with his wispy, fair hair. 

Without giving it too much unnecessary thought, Wooyoung puts one foot in front of the other and approaches him. 

“Um, hi,” Wooyoung says. 

The guy stops in his tracks and lets go of the cart, placing his arms in front of himself; opposite hand clasping onto his elbow. 

“Hi,” he responds. 

They both take a split second to glance out at their surroundings, realizing that they had spoken aloud at a normal volume. 

Wooyoung clears his throat.

“Do you know where I can find _The Octarchy Princes_?” he whispers. 

The librarian tilts his head curiously. 

“No, I’ve never heard of that book, and I know every book in this library.” 

Wooyoung blinks. “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not, I actually know every single book, it’s practically my home here,” the guy insists. “This is kind of like my safe place….”

A safe place.

Wooyoung thinks about how he loses his way in the forest of treble clefs. Those deeper notes completely alienate him from the present moment, make him feel safe; perched at the piano bench, where time isn’t real. 

“Seriously, ask me about anything- history, poets, anything,” the blonde goes on. 

Wooyoung studies his face with an eyebrow lifted, and a smirk that he hopes can be trusted.

“If you could choose one book that represents you, which one would it be?”

The librarian looks taken aback. 

“Oh, I- I’m not sure… I don’t think I know myself well enough, I feel like someone else would be able to pick that better than me….” 

“Give me like, one week and I’ll be able to easily,” Wooyoung smiles. 

At this, the librarian’s wonderment fizzles out and into a jovial, feline-like grin.

Who is Wooyoung kidding. He knows how to make friends. That part is easy. It’s keeping them that’s difficult. Keeping people interested. 

“…My Halmeoni recommended the book, said it cures unhappiness…,” Wooyoung murmurs, running a hand through the back of his hair. 

“Have you checked online…?” the librarian suggests, after a pause. 

Wooyoung drags his eyes away from him and reaches into his coat pocket for his phone. He does a speedy Google search. 

And the book is absolutely nowhere to be found online. 

Why? Did his grandmother get the title wrong? 

Wooyoung stows his phone and sighs. “…So strange. She said that I could find it here.” 

The light inside the solemn building is now a brew between the delicate cold from outside, and an amber glow, draping down from chandeliers parallel to brass hot-air balloons. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you,” the librarian whispers, and his face falls just as quickly as it had lit up. 

Wooyoung shrugs calmly, and doesn’t dare break this fragile gaze. 

“No need to apologize.” 

Wooyoung’s acquaintance meets his reassurance with a faint smile. 

“Um, I’m Choi San.”

It’s nearly impossible not to match San’s expression, Wooyoung finds, as he apprehends that yet again, after all, he was able to discover something new coming here.

“I’m Jung Wooyoung.” 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

It’s a mahogany desk, massive and strong like a pirate ship, that Wooyoung is stationed at within the designated study hall of the Choi family library. He has his satchel slumped in the chair to his right, and his laptop out in front of him. 

Today, San is sporting a really nice pair of tweed pants, with a russet belt cinching him in tastefully. 

This is Wooyoung’s first time seeing San after having learned his name. He finds it extremely annoying that the sight of San coming over to approach him is making him nervous. 

Subconsciously, Wooyoung tugs at the cable-knit cardigan that he’s wearing overtop an ivory oxford shirt. He may or may not put more effort than usual into his outfits on library days, for reasons unknown.

San’s greeting is airy and mild. 

“No coffee allowed in the library.”

Lacking any and all grace, Wooyoung swallows the anxious sip that he had just taken. “Oh, sorry, I literally didn’t know that.”

He looks helplessly at his half-empty cup that he had picked up from the neighboring café.

“It’s only allowed if you have someone drinking coffee _with_ you,” San says. 

With the warmest smile, San brings a sturdy mug out from behind his back. He looks pleased with himself. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung exhales, and he smirks, giving San a quick look up and down.

San pulls out a chair and sits down beside Wooyoung. 

“Sure that’s coffee? It looks like milk,” Wooyoung comments. 

“Listen, coffee creamer saved my life,” San says. “At least it doesn’t look like I’m drinking shit water.”

“I’m so confused are you team coffee or not.”

Quietly, San chuckles. “Yeah, I am, I just can’t handle the acidity very well.”

  
  


_Makes sense; you’re pretty damn sweet._

  
  


“Am I bothering you…?” San asks, after a few moments of Wooyoung failing to vocalize his thoughts. 

“Oh, no- no, not at all.” 

“Everything okay?” San asks softly. 

Wooyoung looks at San with lips slightly parted. 

“Mhm, just tired. Hence the coffee.” 

Several moments more seep by as both Wooyoung and San stare down into their beverages, as if seeking a divination on the surface of the liquid. 

“Sorry for being… loud. The other day,” Wooyoung says. 

San frowns. “Loud? The other day?”

“Yeah, when I dropped that thick-ass book on the floor and everybody looked like they wanted to burn me at the stake.”

“Oh god, I forgot about that entirely, it was no big deal,” San assures, and there’s an energy behind his whispers, “you can be as loud as you want.”

Wooyoung feels his eyebrows shoot up and he gawks at San, who’s caught in a crimson embarrassment at the words that flew out of his mouth. 

“…It’s a library,” Wooyoung deadpans. 

San bites his lower lip, his brow knit, and he looks down towards his lap at his hands. 

“Anyways, I can’t stop thinking about it, it was mortifying…,” Wooyoung groans, flopping an arm on the tabletop and lying the side of his head down along with it. 

San glances over at Wooyoung, and he smiles a sentimental smile. “I would say that you’re being dramatic, but you’re actually really valid.”

“You can put it out of your mind now, it wasn’t an issue,” he adds gently. 

Wooyoung lives inside of San’s words for a beat or two, before he lifts himself back up and straightens his posture.

“What are you studying, by the way. Assuming that you’re also going to university,” he questions. 

San nods. “Art History- the Humanities, just because it’s always been of interest to me. I’m not really gunning for a career, because I’ll most likely work here for the rest of my life, just like my Appa, and my Hahl’ bee.”

Wooyoung hums in understanding. 

“What’s your favorite subject you’ve studied so far?”

“Rococo architecture. It’s like, my favorite thing,” San answers effortlessly. 

“Oh, Rococo, does it have that aesthetic that’s kinda almost like Japanese Lolita fashion, or-”

“Oh my god, yeah, they totally have the same vibe!” San says, beaming. “I never thought about that. That would actually be such a cool thing to write a paper on- architecture’s influence on fashion from culture to culture.” 

“You’re welcome,” Wooyoung says, and he flashes his teeth at San before taking a sip of his drink. 

And before Wooyoung can fully acknowledge it, time is passing between the two of them, and it does until the last remnants of daylight spilling in through the windows are no more. 

Plenty of people have come and gone, walking past them, sharing the table with them, but they’ve stayed exactly where they are, and Wooyoung can’t seem to find a moment to ask San if he’s supposed to be working or not. 

“Do you think you’d be able to guess a book just by feeling it’s spine?” Wooyoung asks San buoyantly, and his torso is leaning forward sloppily again at the table, because he feels comfortable here.

“Oh probably not, definitely not,” San laughs quietly, “there’s literally no way.”

He’s been blooming, and giggly, all honey and lavender. There are purple tones inside of this feeling. 

Abruptly, Wooyoung stands to his feet, rolls up his sleeves, and he goes off to pick a random book from an accessible shelf. 

San is watching him as he does, but he very sneakily slides a book out of its spot, hides it behind his back, and instructs San to close his eyes once he’s back at their table. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t know, it’s just- a book,” San falters brightly as he runs his hands over the hardback, trying to keep his voice low.

Wooyoung laughs through his nose and sets the novel aside. 

“Okay how about this one, it’s a classic, you _have_ to recognize this one….”

San keeps his eyes squeezed shut, with a hesitant breath and an amused smile holding him in place. 

Wooyoung puts his left hand in San’s hands. 

San begins feeling Wooyoung’s palm, his fingers, his wrist. San’s eyes are still closed but there’s a smirk on his face now and a color like cherry punch on his cheeks as he’s realizing that he’s not feeling the backbone of a book, he’s holding Wooyoung’s hand. 

Wooyoung removes his hand, because maybe that was a bit too much, but he smiles down at his lap, until he feels brave enough to steal a glance. He sees that San now has his eyes open, but he’s looking downwards, too. 

His eyes are so soft. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with timid fingers. 

And Wooyoung thinks to himself, that this is really quite special. It’s not everyday that you find someone whose quintessence makes you feel this whole; secure.

When you look at someone who shines so brilliantly to the point where your worries are long forgotten, are you looking at your future?

Wooyoung nudges at his own pair of bold, half-rim glasses. 

There is something in this instance, and in San’s countenance, that feels like a chance, a break in the clouds, an invite to open up. San is okay with this, he seems to approve of this. 

Wooyoung prays that he won’t fuck up and unintentially push Choi San away. 

“I’m still thinking about that damn book…,” Wooyoung mutters after another stretch of silence. 

San peeks over at him. “The one that doesn’t exist?” 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. 

“Can you describe it more?” San asks. “Or tell me more about it?”

“It’s supposedly a fairy tale, or a compilation of fairy tales? That’s all I know,” Wooyoung replies. “Are there any storage rooms here, or- I don’t know, additional sections of books or anything?”

San’s face brightens. 

“Yeah, there is, actually. If you stay late, after my family locks up and leaves, we can check it out if you want.”

And they set out to do just that. 

They hide inside a storage closet, waiting for the library to close at 6:00 PM sharp. Wooyoung brings his bag along and stashes it in there, too. 

It’s a whole lot of dizzy, suppressed laughter as they mock themselves for lurking around like this. Wooyoung can describe it in no other way than totally feeling like a kid again. 

Eager whispering fills their bubble while they waste time, and Wooyoung learns that San likes cats, roller coasters, the scent of seawater and ginger, and that he’s been wearing the same trusty pair of shoes for three years now and he’s finally considering buying new ones. 

San is acting nervous on purpose which is funny because everything in his body language implies that he is completely comfortable with slinking around the library after hours. 

And Wooyoung is quickly recognizing that San doesn’t mind the thin veil between them being grazed, he doesn’t seem to mind Wooyoung sending little ripples across the placid waters of his personal space. 

They’ve been sitting on the floor in the closet, practically hip to hip, and it feels like a very correlative and natural arrangement. Wooyoung finds himself scrunching up his nose and leaning in towards San’s winsome face every time San pokes fun at him. San doesn’t shrink back. He has stuck his tongue out frivolously at Wooyoung about four or five times now. 

“So, how many other guys do you sneak into this closet with you,” Wooyoung asks, trying his best to tweak back an impish grin. 

San gapes and it’s just about the purest thing Wooyoung has ever seen. 

“None, just you,” San murmurs. 

“I do not believe you, seems like you do this at _least_ twice a week,” Wooyoung says. 

“I used to hang out in here when I was really young,” San reveals, bringing his knees up and in to his chest with a light laugh. “I would steal my favorite books from the shelves and collect them in here, I’d read and draw and write little stories. I think I did it for almost a month before I got caught and scolded for it.”

Wooyoung smiles at this. “Cute.” 

There’s only a single lightbulb on the ceiling with its pull chain in this small space, but it has provided them enough luminosity to find each other’s eyes in the dark, in moments like these. 

A few minutes after the hour is when Wooyoung and San eventually hoist themselves up. They slip through the crack of the closet door, out into the surprisingly spine-chilling bleakness that is the vacant, darkened library. 

Wooyoung hadn’t given any thought to how different and forbidding the building would be when it’s not open to the public. 

There’s a rainstorm outside, which is adding another layer onto Wooyoung’s senses. It doesn’t sound too terribly windy, no sizable gusts to blow the cornucopia of colored leaves away. But the shower is battering the windows and drumming on top of the roof. Wooyoung is now especially glad that he’s staying late with San, he doesn’t want to go out there into such a cold and soppy nightfall. 

In the storage closet, San had located a candlestick, and an old taper candle holder that reminds Wooyoung of a serving tray made of brushed metal that his grandmother keeps in the center of her dining room table. 

With the candle lit in his left hand, San and the flickering flame lead the way to the very back of the library, past every section that Wooyoung is aware of. 

Wooyoung follows close behind, pinching San’s slouchy, chunky-knit sweater between his pointer finger and thumb.

They’re carving out their path in silence, coming up on the YA fiction wing, and Wooyoung accidentally steps on the back of one of San’s old loafers, causing him to bump into San’s back. 

San’s hair brushes up against Wooyoung’s cheekbone, and Wooyoung can’t help but take note of how incredibly soft it is. 

“ _Wooyoung_ ,” San whines, hushed, “you made me get hot wax on my thumb.” 

Wooyoung tuts. “That’s your fault for trying to be all spooky with the candlelight. Don’t you guys have a flashlight around here for emergencies?”

“Candles are pretty,” is San’s pouty retort. 

“Well it’s darker than an asscrack in here, if you haven’t noticed…,” Wooyoung grumbles. 

“Are you… scared?” 

San halts, and twists his body around to look at Wooyoung, something sly tugging up at the corners of his mouth. 

Wooyoung huffs in defense. “ _No…._ ”

“Want me to hold your hand?” San sneers jokingly.

“Yes,” Wooyoung blurts. 

They stare at one another. 

Wooyoung gulps. He would say that he has no clue where this sudden lack of self-restraint flourished from, but this is kind of just the way that he is sometimes. Everything feels breathless. 

And Wooyoung can feel San’s reaction more than he is able to gauge what’s written across San’s face, as San very carefully tangles Wooyoung’s fingers with his own. 

Facing forward again, San carries on, and Wooyoung thinks about his grandmother, and how he holds her hand when they go out on walks together. 

San’s thumb twitches just vaguely on the surface of Wooyoung’s hand, and Wooyoung is left mystified at how something this simple, a hand to hold onto, can feel this damn good. 

Wooyoung is mindful not to step on San’s shoe again, or to squeeze his hand too much harder than he already is, and they end up reaching the corridor where the restrooms are located, which reminds Wooyoung that he has been back here a couple of times before. 

What he doesn’t recall is a spiral staircase of wrought iron in the corner of this antechamber. 

The rain pummels heavier as San brings them to the foot of the stairs, and Wooyoung clutches the spindly handrail, the structure creaking underneath their burden with each ascending step. 

The staircase stops rather abruptly at the top, where San reaches for a cord that takes a bit of effort to tug. Wooyoung helps pull down this hidden ladder, dust stirring and twinkling around the fire on San’s candle. 

Wooyoung tilts his head up to see nothing but an uninviting black hole. 

He doesn’t get a chance to speak on it because San is already climbing up it like a beanstalk, these wooden steps making even more noise than the spiral ones. 

An attic is where they land, after Wooyoung follows San up the compact ladder, and Wooyoung feels a sound of intrigue thrum from his throat as they peek around and find each other side by side, their little light giving off a syrupy glow inside the icy inky dark. 

There’s shelving that’s home to a mishmash of books and what looks to be other various media. And as for the rest of the room, there’s just stuff; random furniture and whatnot, some things seemingly covered in white sheets. Wooyoung can’t even tell exactly how big the loft is or where the walls end, because the dimness is drowning out all perception. 

“Everything is sorted alphabetically, and by title rather than author, since there aren’t nearly as many items up here as there are out on the floor,” San explains. 

He releases Wooyoung’s hand and the room suddenly feels chillier. 

“Why do you guys keep all of these stored up here?” Wooyoung questions. 

“We have to cycle through books that aren’t checked out as often in our database, to keep enough shelf space for more popular books, you know?” San says as he starts to gravitate towards the central portion of the bookshelves. 

Wooyoung bobs his head in understanding. “Makes sense.”

They stick close together, employing the candle and squinting at title after title in search of their hopeful treasure. 

“… _The Octarchy Princes_ … is what it was called, right?” San says as he wastes no time in wiggling a book out from its slot. 

Staggered, Wooyoung looks back and forth between San’s face and the hardback that’s now in his hand. “…Yeah? Yeah- that’s the one-”

San passes the book to Wooyoung, and quite frankly he’s shocked to see that it really does exist, that the name was correct and his grandmother wasn’t mistaken; she remembered this apparently influential detail from her youth. 

“Oh my god, it’s actually here…,” Wooyoung scarcely breathes out.

“There’s only one copy, do you think this is the last copy in the whole world? Since you couldn’t find it anywhere online?” San wonders aloud, just as excited and awestruck. 

Wooyoung runs a finger across the wispy script boasting the story’s name, graceful ribbons etched into the cover. 

He inspects both the front and the back. 

“There’s no author….”

There’s no publisher information, no snippet or synopsis.

“Oh what the hell, there’s an audio version, too!” San says, removing from the shelf a large, thin sleeve. “This is my first time seeing a vinyl audiobook….”

San flips it around, observing it. 

“Want to listen to it together?” he asks, somewhat timorous. 

Wooyoung looks at San, bathing in the candlelight. Weakly, he attempts to sort out his thoughts, mesmerized by the patch of freckles on San’s neck. 

Wooyoung figures that his grandmother won’t mind if he doesn’t spend this one evening at her place. 

“Yeah.”

While Wooyoung finds a spot to sit down on the attic floor, San rummages around in one of the piles of things that Wooyoung can’t precisely identify. He’s pretty sure that San is standing in the wake of silhouettes belonging to one or two flaring horns, the kind that come attached to old record players, ones that are probably magnificent to see in proper lighting. 

“These are actually antique, my family’s,” San explains, “fingers crossed that one of them still works.”

San takes quite a few minutes getting one up and running. 

“Let me know if I can help somehow…,” Wooyoung says, but he remains quiet otherwise, letting San concentrate.

A whirring fills the air not too long after, and Wooyoung sees San dust off his hands animatedly before he wades his way over through the dark to sit down beside Wooyoung. 

He crosses his legs, sets the candlestick down, and splays his hands out behind him, as the both of them listen to the warm crackling of the recording. 

A voice, soprano and sharp, begins the reading. 

  
  
  


_“Ambrosial fates_

_fidelity or lie_

_choosing their return to a winter sky.”_

  
  
  


It’s a little eerie, in Wooyoung’s humble opinion. 

A completely different voice takes over after this prelude, a homely tenor that sounds just as aged as the book in Wooyoung’s lap appears to be.

Wooyoung and San exchange looks, enthralled, but something feels… off.

  
  
  


_“This is the tale of the Masked Man and the Hourglass._

_Though perhaps,_

_it is more so the venture of genuine friendship,_

_and hopeless love._

_Only those who truly believe in their heart of hearts,_

_those who fabricate fables,_

_those who yearn for a wonderland,_

_will find their way in this journey_ …. 

_Once upon a time_

_in the Kingdom of Crescent_

_there lived a boy who couldn’t remember his childhood_ …. _”_

  
  
  


Wooyoung’s vision is fuzzy, he can only distinguish this because the flicker of the candle is turning into more and more of a citrusy orb. 

He feels lightheaded, all of a sudden, as if he’s in need of sustenance, or as if he didn’t get enough sleep. Wooyoung can’t focus, can’t make out a single word. 

  
  


_…Childhood… boyhood… remember… couldn’t… couldn’t remember_ ….

  
  


He flutters his eyelids closed, and it’s heavy, there’s a weight on his shoulders and behind his eyes. 

_…This is… strange_ …, Wooyoung thinks to himself.

He wants to repeat these words in his mind aloud to San, but he can’t, he simply can’t, his jaw is loose yet locked tight. 

Drowsy, Wooyoung searches for San, who’s already collapsed and lying down on his side, with eyes closed and a spellbound hand flopped on Wooyoung’s thigh. 

The leaden curtain of his own eyelashes is the next thing Wooyoung perceives, along with a splash of blue sky, where untainted flower petals are frolicking downwards from an oval olympus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEN THEY WOKE UP IN NARNIA 😂
> 
> hello pals thank you so much for checking out the start of this!!! 😭💖💖 wanted to switch things up for a bit and try something a little outside of my comfort zone! this should be a fun one and I’ve been feeling super excited to write it!!! 🥰
> 
> I’ve been listening to golden lanni’s [dark academia playlists](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsenJSIypLnwF-kn_L0tF61rDvxNnaatQ) on repeat for this ❤️
> 
> currently working on chapter 2 so I hope to see u next time ☕️✨🕯✨
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	2. The Octave Greenwood

_Once upon a time_

_in the Kingdom of Crescent_

_there lived a boy who couldn’t remember his childhood_ ….

  
  


The old record player’s bewitching claims a swift conquering over Wooyoung, but he regains his full consciousness just as instantly, only to find himself lying on his back in the small clearing of a forest. 

It’s a meadow, with blossoms like buttercup flowers a mellow duvet beneath him.

The sky is strikingly blue, and these flower petals of intricate shapes and all shades pastel are dancing in the light breeze, similar to snow falling from Wooyoung’s vantage point. 

Wooyoung groans, squinting back at the daylight, and he lets his head loll to the side. He can see where the pasture ends and where the tree line begins, not at all too far from where he’s slumped. The canopy of trees appears dark in comparison to this clearing that’s practically under a spotlight, as if in anticipation for a performance on a springtime stage.

With his body still heavy and limp, all Wooyoung can manage to do for the time being is reach his arm over and place his hand loosely in the crook of San’s neck, where he’s basking peacefully in the sunbeams next to Wooyoung. 

His eyes are still closed, his lips slightly parted. 

Wooyoung can feel San’s pulse, which is great, but he’s not warm, which is strange; not warm like he was when they sat shoulder to shoulder inside of the storage closet in the library. The rainstorm had crawled its way into the building and the closet had been cold, but San’s body was flushed and dashing with life. 

The balmy air here feels wonderful. It hasn’t felt warm like this in months….

Wooyoung brushes San’s hair away from his eyes, and cups San’s cheek in his palm.

He’s about to sigh the most contented, dreamy, starry-eyed sigh of his entire life, when a coursing ripple of realization gets caught in his windpipe.

Abruptly, Wooyoung sits up, and he feels lightheaded, and confused, and disturbed, and a little crazy. 

“…Holy shit… holy _shit_ … holy shit, San, _San_ -”

Wooyoung seizes San’s cardigan with both hands and pulls at it wildly. 

Not a minute later, San, clearly disoriented, begins rubbing at his eyes, and he moans faintly.

“…Is this what drugs feels like…?”

“Oh _god_ is this really _happening_ right now?” Wooyoung shrieks, letting go of San and grabbing worried fists of his own hair. 

San rises to a sitting position as well, and he peers around at their surroundings. 

“This audiobook is very… lifelike,” San says as Wooyoung proceeds to lose his shit.

“Hey, hey, Wooyoung, it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe- let’s just breathe-”

San slings his arms around Wooyoung’s body and holds him close, and Wooyoung feels everything rattling around in his sternum try to settle down. He allows himself to lean into San, clasping onto San’s shoulders.

San is here. San is solid. San smells like books and clean laundry. They’re here together. They have pulses and they’re still alive, somehow. 

San takes in a shuddered breath of his own, and with transient fingers he sweeps Wooyoung’s fringe in place. San’s skin is sunkissed velvet and Wooyoung can’t see San’s dimples in this moment drawn in petrification, but Wooyoung knows that they’re there somewhere. 

Wooyoung coasts his eyes across all of these divine details of San’s face. They’re a great distraction. 

“San… where the hell are we…?”

Shaking his head in uncertainty, San gulps subtly as he gazes back at Wooyoung, until something seems to catch his attention. He looks out towards the woods. 

“Wait- do you hear that?”

Wooyoung drags his focus off of San. 

There’s a sniffling noise, over near the shade of the forest’s edge. 

Additionally, the sound of a scarcely audible singing is wafting over from that direction. It’s a pale song, and it’s as if the woodlands are lamenting. 

In a wordless agreement, Wooyoung and San help each other up to their feet, and they tiptoe over to the woods, wobbly yet intrigued. 

There’s a bite in the umbra as soon as they step into the thicket, and sitting on the ground, propped up against a tree within reach, is a person. 

A butterfly with wings of midnight-blue is sat on his shoulder, one on the top of his head, and one at the toe of his old worn shoe. 

He’s crying. His nose is a sore little ruby. 

The faint melody that lured them in is coming from the bark of the trees, and it sounds like a choir. It’s sweet and dreary, temperate and throbbing. It seems to be mirroring the mood of the individual, lonesome and situated in the midst of this melancholic flora and fauna.

Cautiously, Wooyoung and San move closer, the forest floor crunching underneath their footing. 

“Hello… are you okay? Why are you crying?” San says softly.

The guy wipes his nose on his sleeve, and doesn’t even bother to look up at his unexpected visitors. 

“I want to go to the grand ball, in the castle,” is his wistful reply. 

Wooyoung juts his head forward in alarm. “Did you just say ‘castle’?” 

Still sniffling, the young man speaks again. 

“…The r-royal families host the ceremony once every week… all of the maidens arrive in their beautiful gowns, and with satin bows in their hair… only those of nobility, and the maidens of the village, are invited and allowed to attend the ball….”

His clothes are dull and tattered at some of the hems, but he’s wearing high-waisted shorts with a puffy shirt the shade of café au lait, and it’s all very endearing in a way. The leather cross-body pouch that he’s sporting almost reminds Wooyoung of a Renaissance style, a Robin Hood flair. His hair is hued like hot chocolate and it’s tousled in loose waves. 

“Oh that’s bullshit,” Wooyoung says sympathetically. “Couldn’t you just wear a dress and show up anyway?” 

The guy finally lifts his chin, and he stares at Wooyoung and blinks. 

“Is there a reason you want to go to the ball so bad?” San questions sweetly. 

“N- _No_ ,” the pauper splutters, and he crosses his arms over his chest aggressively, which sends his butterflies flying away. 

He looks off to the side with burning cheeks and a pout that could destroy. 

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay… sure. Uh, I’m Wooyoung, and this is San.”

Peeking up at them, the young man sinks lower in his spot. 

“I’m Hongjoong, I’m from the family of Kim seamstresses. I myself am a tailor and a seamster, I make clothing for the village folk. Do I not know you two…?” 

“Oh, no, we’re not from here,” San says. 

“Not from here?” Hongjoong frowns. “Where else would you be from. Kingdom Crescent is the only place.”

Before Wooyoung or San can utter a word, Hongjoong gasps and jumps to his feet. 

“Unless you’re pirates?” he accuses, bending down in a panic and picking up a stick to defend himself with. “Legend says that beyond this forest there’s the sea, and pirates come from the sea to corrupt the village and overthrow the royal families. Your attire is eccentric, now that I ponder on it further….”

“Nope, definitely not pirates. Just two university students,” San assures. 

“Did you grow up here?” Wooyoung asks Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong tilts his head ever so slightly.

“I don’t remember my childhood.”

“What the fuck…,” Wooyoung mumbles, his brow furrowed, and he and San trade concerned glances. 

“What is a ‘fuck’?” Hongjoong questions as he lowers the stick that he had pointed at Wooyoung and San, then tossing it to the ground. 

Wooyoung feels his face relax into a blank expression. 

“Um, it’s a sentence enhancer. And it also means sex.” 

Hongjoong’s already reddened cheeks now look feverish. 

“You’re also supposed to say it a lot when your partner is fucking you,” San adds, very matter-of-fact. 

Wooyoung gapes. Hongjoong’s eyes are enlarged. 

Is San one of those people who comes out of their shell the more time you spend with them? Wooyoung has some really interesting visuals going on in his head right now. 

“San! What are you teaching this poor medieval fashion boy?”

“I’m teaching him about the world,” San insists. 

“The world…?” Hongjoong murmurs in a wholesome confusion.

Again, Wooyoung and San exchange looks.

“Is there like, a king or a ruler here we could talk to,” Wooyoung asks Hongjoong. 

And Hongjoong informs them that there certainly is. 

While the wildlife continues to sing low and steady, their trio begins traipsing through the woods in a direction that only a compass could describe, and it isn’t long before they come across a stocky creature, sleek yet scaly, and roughly the size of all three of them combined. 

It looks very much so like a dragon, and it’s munching avidly on some sort of a pink, globular fruit. 

Both Wooyoung and San are in such an inexplicable disbelief in regards to this whole situation, they’re not even as startled as they probably should be at the sight of this soot-colored beast. 

“What’s that thing eating those plants,” San asks numbly. 

Hongjoong halts and traces his eyes over to where San’s are fixed, and his face brightens. 

“Oh, that’s my pet. His name is Pan. I found him in my garden one day. Pan can turn his form into a feline.”

At this, Hongjoong makes a ticking noise with his tongue on the roof of his mouth, and with a very seamless transition, Pan changes into an exotic, long-haired, and rather handsome black cat. 

San looks delighted. 

“He’s an absolute unit,” Wooyoung says, unable to deny the smile spreading across his face at having witnessed something so magical. He literally just saw a dragon shapeshift into a cat. 

After giving Hongjoong’s furry companion plenty of head pats, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San, and Pan trek through the forest. The trees start to thin the closer they get to their destination. 

Wooyoung doesn’t even know where to begin with sorting out how he feels about all of this. He keeps glancing at San, checking San’s expressions, but it isn’t helping him reach any groundbreaking decisions. 

They got sucked into an audio recording… how does that even work? Wooyoung is now especially grateful for how natural things between him and San have felt right from the get-go. He hardly knows San, but he absolutely feels like he can trust him. Maybe it was meant to be for them to get swallowed up in all of this together, because if Wooyoung was on his own right now, there’s no telling how he’d be handling this. 

Did Wooyoung’s grandmother have a similar experience with this book? Did she visit this same exact Crescent Kingdom? If she made it out alive, then he and San should be able to, too. Wooyoung is capable of staying cool, he can be calm and collected. He’s not going to fall to pieces, Hongjoong is likeable at least, and going hysterical won’t solve anything. 

Plus, this is kind of really fucking awesome. 

Just the scents belonging to the atmosphere alone are otherworldly, they’re florally and tart, cider and cedar, musky with hints of guava and coconut. And there’s greenery of all kinds, closely resembling plants that Wooyoung is familiar with in the real world. 

The sapphire butterflies follow Hongjoong at his heels and at his shoulders, and the flower petals that welcomed Wooyoung and San into this new land continue to flurry downwards from seemingly nowhere. 

A mighty, monumental dragon flies overhead like an airplane, its pearlescent wingspan casting cosmic shadows that sweep Wooyoung’s breath away. 

And looming triumphantly in the near distance is a picturesque castle, straight out of a love story. 

They make it out of the woodlands and immediately tumble into the heart of the kingdom. To the left of the startling palace is a town, which looks to be a labyrinth of little homes and shops. With throngs of people bustling around, children running carefree across the cobblestone, and women an ocean of rainbow corsets and gowns, it’s difficult to tell where the castle begins and ends. 

But, as Hongjoong continues to lead them in and through the homespun crowds, the hazy image of the fortress becomes clearer. 

The castle is heavenly, tantamount to a chiffon dessert. It’s easily the tallest structure as far as the eye can see, propped up on eggshell-white stilts and with more turrets than Wooyoung can currently count. It’s almost high enough to reach the clouds, if there were any on this clear day.

It’s clear out, but Wooyoung notes that there is no sign of the sun or the moon. But maybe he isn’t at a good angle to find them, maybe he really is losing his mind a little bit right now, but he’s trying his damndest to curb it and keep it under control. 

Flags of maroon and merlot are blowing in the wind up from their many places in all of the turrets. Very simple yet beautiful details of gold can be found across the castle’s walls, and the face of the regal entrance is an orange-red. 

An immense mountain range sits in the backdrop, with slight remnants of a wintertime in its texture.

The forest’s butterflies and snowflake flowers have now dwindled, but there’s still a bounty of trees in the area, budding in dazzling yellows to the deepest of greens. Bird-like creatures are zipping around with purpose, and it’s truly the perfect temperature out here, for Wooyoung’s liking at least. It’s a beautiful day. 

San, too, is absorbing all of these overwhelming sights, and amid the commotion of townspeople they hear a thriving, gorgeous singing voice. 

“Oh, what a treat, Jongho is performing in the plaza!” Hongjoong exclaims.

They’re whittling their way through an open area that’s established at the bottom of an opulent staircase attached to the palace, and Hongjoong goes on, peeking over his shoulder at Wooyoung and San as he does. 

“Jongho has the most excellent voice in the kingdom. He’s very respected here, even amongst the royal families… and many maidens in town find him charming.”

They stop as soon as they secure a good spot for viewing Jongho’s recital in the square. The gifted redhead is dressed smartly in a mauve tailcoat. 

Hongjoong folds his arms behind his back. “You see, Jongho is a sonnet master. He writes them, and then he puts them to a tune and sings them. And, he’s one of few people who can perform magic.”

Both Wooyoung and San simply hum in response to this information, in a captivated comprehension.

“Do you see him up in that tower?” Hongjoong points out. “That’s Prince Yeosang, you may be able to speak with him.”

Watching from the window of the nearest tower is a very distinguished individual. He’s listening to Jongho’s sonnet, hanging out of the lofty opening like prized artwork, leaning forward with his chin resting in his palm, enchanted. 

He has ashen-blonde hair that reaches his shoulders and he’s dressed in royal mantle. The sash across his chest looks as if it’s made from liquid gold, as does the crown upon his head, but it’s tasteful and not at all gaudy. 

“Oh, cool,” Wooyoung replies, somewhat distracted by literally everything. 

Standing near the bottom of the stairs is another young man who surely appears to hold a status of power as well, but Hongjoong does not name him. 

He’s also clothed in royal finery, he’s willowy and posed in an elegant, untouchable manner. A crown of silver is arranged atop his jet-black hair, and he’s very blatantly eyeing Prince Yeosang in his tower. 

When Jongho belts his finishing high note, the village erupts in applause. 

“Damn, that was good,” Wooyoung says breathlessly. 

San and Hongjoong bob their heads, equally as impressed, and the three of them are clapping energetically along with everyone else in the courtyard as Jongho bows and provides a pleasant smile. 

Simultaneously, both Wooyoung and San catch Hongjoong gazing over at the stairway, at the prince who he didn’t mention. 

There’s an almost fearful, tearful look memorized on the surface of Hongjoong’s bare face. But it’s all so soft, and breakable.

Wooyoung is about to comment on it when a flash of red, chainmail, and feathered helmets blocks his field of vision. 

Two guys are now standing before them, and they look ready for battle at a moment’s notice, aside from their headgear being removed and tucked underneath their arms. 

“Greetings, suspicious strangers. This is my best friend Mingi,” one of them says, gesturing at his comrade. 

“And this is my best friend Yunho,” the one named Mingi chimes in. 

“We’re knights,” they say in unison.

They fist bump, and their armor clunks around a bit. 

“We’re sworn protectors of the two royal families,” Yunho announces cheerfully. 

Mingi, laidback, nods in agreement. “We would jump in front of a runaway wagon filled with bricks for Prince Yeosang and Prince Seonghwa.”

Prince Yeosang hears this, and Wooyoung is genuinely skeptical over the fact that he was able to catch that from all the way up there in his tower. The prince chuckles and gives Mingi a thumbs up. 

With a crooked grin, Mingi looks skyward and salutes him. 

“Why the hell are there so many princes? Are they all brothers?” Wooyoung asks. 

“There’s literally only two…,” San mutters under his breath. 

Yunho is eager to explain. 

“Not related, quite the contrary,” he says. “In recent years a merge and a peace between good and evil has occurred in the Kingdom of Crescent. The royal families are no longer at war and they live in harmony.”

Wooyoung finds it weird that they would even have a need for knights, if all is truthfully well in this realm. Maybe they need soldiers because of the pirates that Hongjoong mentioned.

“Seems odd. What would a story be without an enemy or conflict of some kind,” Wooyoung wonders aloud. 

“Porn without plot?” San suggests. 

“What’s porn?” Hongjoong asks in a small voice, but he receives no answer because Wooyoung is too busy tugging San’s ear and scolding him and San is wailing so they don’t hear him at all.

Out of the blue, Jongho glides over, eyeing the ruckus. 

“Hello,” he says, and even his speaking voice is soothing. 

“Sir Yunho, Sir Mingi,” Jongho adds, bowing to the two knights, then turning to inquire of Wooyoung and San. “Can we expect your presences at the grand ball tomorrow evening?” 

While San and Wooyoung bumble awkwardly about their lack of knowledge in regards to the grand ball, the one prince, Prince Seonghwa apparently, descends the staircase. 

He’s headed in their group’s direction, through the hustle and bustle of the courtyard, the chains and badges on his regalia swaying. 

By Wooyoung’s side, Hongjoong tenses. 

“I’m- going home now… I’ll see you later?” he mumbles. 

Without delay, Hongjoong scoops Pan up in his arms and pushes through the mob, evacuating before Wooyoung or San have a chance to say goodbye. 

“Is he okay?” Yunho questions, a raw compassion lining his vocals, but it’s evident that he doesn’t seem to know Hongjoong. 

“Probably not, I mean, I just met him but from what I can tell he’s got issues,” Wooyoung responds. 

At this point, Jongho has detected Prince Seonghwa’s presence as he’s quickly approaching them. 

“Ah, they’ll most likely receive an invitation,” the sonneteer says with an unfazed confidence. 

For a nearly unnoticeable moment, Prince Seonghwa’s eyes flit ahead, where the pauper’s turned back had been just a few seconds ago. 

Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho position themselves on either side of Prince Seonghwa, their postures vertical the same as a spear. There’s an extravagant earring dangling from the prince’s left earlobe, and a sparkling aura surrounds him. He’s a caramelized sunset. 

Both Wooyoung and San are motionless and low-key gawking at being in such close proximity with someone so ethereal. 

Jongho elbows Wooyoung in the ribs, pretty damn hard, and bows at their visitor. Following Jongho’s example, San and Wooyoung bow to Prince Seonghwa as low as physically possible. 

But, before the prince is able to introduce himself, a round, jolly man advancing from the opposite direction calls out to Prince Seonghwa in a gravelly voice. 

The man is accompanied by several ear-splitting maidens who seem to be holding a silent competition with reference to who has the most cleavage spilling out from over the top of their corsets. They all appear wealthy and influential, the man is most likely the type of noble who can go to the ball without an invite. 

Looking apologetic, Prince Seonghwa locks eyes with Wooyoung, and then San. Promptly, he peers up at the nearest tower. 

“Yeosang, would you care to give them the grand tour of the palace, please?” 

His voice is smoother than marble, with more depth than any world’s ocean. And once again, it doesn’t seem possible for either prince to be able to hear each other from this distance, and yet, from up in the turret, Prince Yeosang rolls his eyes in response. He peels himself off of the balcony and disappears indoors. 

Still appearing sorry, Prince Seonghwa waves with a graceful brandish and dips to go speak with the more important people. 

Wooyoung and San exhale, releasing a mutual bated breath. 

“You were just about to meet the eldest prince,” Jongho narrates. 

“Okay well the eldest prince is kinda hot,” Wooyoung says. 

Wooyoung chokes back a yowl as San jabs him in the side. Now he has two sore ribs. 

It’s only a handful of minutes later when Prince Yeosang materializes outside and ambles over towards the plaza, and Jongho, Mingi, Yunho, San, and Wooyoung bow at the gold-crowned prince before he even reaches them. 

Clumsily, Wooyoung and San officially introduce themselves to the knights, the sonnet master, and to the prince who looks as though he’s holding back several candid remarks. 

“Prince Seonghwa will be glad to meet the pair of you at a different time. He enjoys people far more than I do. Anyhow, please, come with me,” Prince Yeosang tells San and Wooyoung, his rather warm and restful voice harbored in a boredom. 

After excusing Yunho and Mingi, and offering Jongho a wordless farewell as if he hadn’t just been hanging out of the tower watching his performance unblinkingly, the prince turns on his heel. He leads the way up the imposing flight of stairs and through the guarded front doors of the castle, and Wooyoung and San can do nothing but glance at each other in both exhilaration and hesitancy. 

Inside, the vaulted ceilings are what renders Wooyoung speechless first and foremost. Footsteps echo within the hollow entrance hall as the trio dips their toes in this refreshing silence. 

“So… what’s up with this tour that you’re taking us on against our will,” San asks Prince Yeosang. 

Prince Yeosang shrugs and continues to face forward as they walk along. “I don’t know, I don’t make the rules. A general tour of the castle’s common areas is mandatory.” 

This guy seems just about done with everybody’s bullshit and Wooyoung decides that he likes him. 

It’s almost too quiet and empty in the fabled building, especially compared to all of the effervescence outside. Wooyoung, San, and Prince Yeosang pass by no one else as they stroll around the grand halls. 

This is hands down the most awe-inducing place Wooyoung has ever seen, it’s so ridiculously luxe. Every corner they turn tells the story of a confession, a glass slipper, a spell unbinding kiss.

And it kind of feels as if the daylight is already setting inside the framework of each palatial window; there are sherbert pigments dousing the walls. Wooyoung wonders what time it is here, but he hasn’t caught sight of any clocks so far.

Prince Yeosang shows them one of the dining halls, the grand ballroom, and they take a break in the gardens to admire the overgrown, solitary paradise that it is, complete with ivory fountains and sculptures and gazebos. 

“You are cordially invited to this week’s grand ball, by the way,” the prince says, peering at Wooyoung. 

He then glances at San, where his eyes linger for a bit longer. 

“There’s a glister bug on your spectacles,” he tells San. 

San blinks back at Prince Yeosang through innocent eyelashes. “Huh? Oh!” 

A circular insect is stuck in a corner on the lens covering San’s left eye, and he draws in a skittish inhale when the prince carefully reaches forward and removes his glasses from his face. 

Prince Yeosang puckers his lips and blows the glossy little bug away. It dissolves midair, breaking apart and leaving sparkles in its wake, and San is left cooing in astonishment.

“…Where’d it go?” he asks in a half-whisper. 

“When you blow them away, they are carried to someplace new,” the prince explains, handing San’s glasses back to him. 

San adjusts the frames on his face and raises his eyebrows in fascination. “Oh, like teleporting?”

“…Sure,” Prince Yeosang deadpans. 

Both San and Prince Yeosang watch the levitating glitter for a moment or two more, and then they stare at each other. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he has such an intense urge all of a sudden to wrap his arms around San’s incredibly small waist and pull him closer in his own direction, but he probably would if he wasn’t so sidetracked by a very soft yet distinct marking on Prince Yeosang’s cheekbone. 

“I feel like I know you somehow,” Wooyoung says. 

Prince Yeosang is fairly caught off guard at hearing this. He studies Wooyoung’s face. 

“I do not recall us ever having been acquainted,” he responds, following a gentle pause. 

Wooyoung breathes in sharply. 

“Right- right… I’m probably just remembering someone else….”

They proceed with the guided tour after getting their fill of fresh air in the gardens, and Prince Yeosang informs San and Wooyoung that they are nearly completed with all of the communal areas in the palace. 

“Just around the corner is the library,” he announces. 

At this, a predestined squeal falls out of San’s mouth and he wraps his arms around himself.

“If this is _anything_ like the library in Beauty and the Beast, I will cry,” San says. 

“Our library is sacred and revered,” the prince goes on to explain, “but nobody really uses it, including myself… the King is often the only one to utilize the library, but alas, he is thoroughly unavailable today….”

“You’re more than welcome to take a look inside, but I don’t feel inclined to go in there,” Prince Yeosang concludes. 

He looks down at his heeled loafers.

“Uh, okay…,” Wooyoung says, “well, I’m gonna take San in there before he pees himself. We’ll be back in a minute.” 

The library isn’t too far off from San’s storybook expectations, and Wooyoung had thought that all of the chandeliers and stained glass casements in the Choi library were the most stunning he had ever seen, but now he’s not so sure. 

It isn’t an enormous library, but it’s cylindrical like a colosseum, and with a domed ceiling. Alabaster stairways lead up to higher bookshelves, and most everything in sight is pearl and porcelain and it’s plain to see that all of this is San’s wildest dream come true. 

His mouth is ajar, and Wooyoung is smiling right along with him, the both of them reeling and properly mind-blown. 

“Wooyoung, can you believe this?” San murmurs. He’s glowing. 

Laughing airily, Wooyoung just shakes his head in response, downright dazed. 

“Oh my god, this is pretty,” San says as he shuffles over to a glass alcove overlooking the kingdom. 

Wooyoung follows him, and in the bay window there lies a stump.

Quite literally the stump of an old tree. 

And now that Wooyoung has had a good look around, this object appears to be the only thing that’s really out of place in the pristine room. 

There’s nothing but a bold hourglass on top of the stump, and it’s rusted, as if it had been lost at sea. 

The sand in the hourglass is flowing in the opposite direction; it’s rising measuredly. 

The sound is very bleached, very muffled, but Wooyoung swears that he can hear the faint squall of ocean waves.

“…Why’s it backwards…?” he asks, his own voice feels far-off. 

And Wooyoung can’t seem to take his eyes off of it. 

He’s met with a familiar sensation, and something in the back of his mind is acquainted with the inevitable, it knows exactly what’s about to happen next, although the current beating of his heart is failing to agree with it. 

  
  


_Once upon a time…_

_in the Kingdom of Crescent…_

_Once upon a time…_

_in the Kingdom of Crescent…_

_Ambrosial fates…_

_Ambrosial fates…_

  
  


The hourglass’s sand is gripping, magnetizing, too governing to refuse. The fortress, the stronghold, everyone who Wooyoung just met, San by his side; every last bit of it is crumbling away. 

His imagination bottoms out, his legs give up. 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

Wooyoung wakes up for the third time today and he feels the groan clawing its way up and into his mouth before anything else. He feels the hard surface underneath him next, waterlogged wooden planks. 

When he manages to pry his eyes open, he’s met with a drizzly darkness, and it’s bitterly cold. 

He found his return to the hidden attic. 

Wooyoung stares blankly at the little flame hovering somewhere in the shadows, down near where his feet are. 

He _knew_ that the candle wasn’t a good idea. What would’ve happened if it got knocked over during their absence? Him and San and the whole Choi library would’ve been goners. 

“Wooyoung…?” 

San’s voice is groggy. One of his hands is feeling around aimlessly in the dark and he grabs at Wooyoung’s face. With a whine, Wooyoung snatches San’s hand before he can poke Wooyoung in the eye or accidentally squeeze anything else. 

There’s a terrible pulsating in the back of Wooyoung’s head as he brings himself up to sit, but he grimaces through it and pulls San’s limp arm closer to the candle’s illumination. 

He checks the analog watch wrapped neatly around San’s wrist. 

It’s right around the time when they made it up to the attic, exactly twenty minutes after 6:00 PM when the library closed. 

Time didn’t pass while they were adventuring inside of the story. 

Wooyoung opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t. 

“S-San….”

He can _speak_ , but he can’t talk about _it_. About anything that they just did, or the places that they saw. Wooyoung has a fathomless disarray of thoughts about the fragrances in the forest and the crevices of the castle and the sheer power of that one guy’s singing voice, all of these things that he wants to verbalize and talk about all evening with San, but there’s an abnormal blockade in his throat, pointy like a picket fence. 

It’s difficult to make out San’s full expression through the dusk, but he too seems to be realizing this repressing hex, and he’s breathing heavily. 

“Oh sure _now_ you panic,” Wooyoung says. 

Clambering to his feet, San grabs the candlestick. He scrambles around the loft for a minute or two, then hurtling back to Wooyoung’s side with an armful of stuff. He slaps down a bundle of loose parchment, along with a quill and ink, most likely thinking that if they are forbidden from talking about it, then maybe they’ll be able to sneak by it and at least write about it instead. 

_oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god_

  
  


On his knees, San is writing frantically and mumbling “oh my god” under his breath as he’s bent over the paper. 

Wooyoung grabs the quill pen from San and dunks it into the ink jar. 

  
  


_That was lame_

_That was so quick?_

_I wanted to see more of the kingdom :(_

  
  


_Do we get rid of the book? Destroy the vinyl? Will my family pay for my therapy if I end up needing it,_ is what San scribbles next, before Wooyoung wrenches the paper back towards himself. 

  
  


_Why are we writing with a quill and ink this is so dramatic?_

  
  


San exhales a stressed puff of air.

  
  


_Oh god I got caught up in it all_

_You’re right we can just text_

  
  


They fish in their pockets for their phones and exchange numbers hastily, San’s fingers trembling as they do. Wooyoung labels San ‘cute nerd’ in his contacts. 

  
  


**cute nerd:**

I have never

Ever

Considered burning a book before 

But here we are 

**Wooyoung:**

Wait no!

That was a once in a lifetime experience 

This is a once in a lifetime experience 

It was kind of cool 

It could be our little secret 

  
  


San peers up at Wooyoung, his brow furrowed in a tangle of worry and doubt.

He stands up again to go fetch the vinyl record where it’s still resting on the phonograph, no longer pirouetting. 

While San reclaims his seat with a sigh and begins to inspect the record, Wooyoung locates the vintaged novel, the only one of its kind. 

Flipping through the book, Wooyoung discovers that the yellowing pages are empty, completely blank, the same as a sketchbook. 

… _What is this_ …. 

San peeks over at the book in Wooyoung’s hands, and they simply puzzle over this together, with nothing but the howl of the rainstorm outside as their witness. 

It felt so real.

  
  


**Wooyoung:**

Why did that prince let us go near the hourglass

Do you think he’s evil?

**cute nerd:**

No?

I think he’s good

He probably doesn’t know anything about any of this 

**Wooyoung:**

Hm

Sure

🙄

**cute nerd:**

???

**Wooyoung:**

What was that guy’s name

**cute nerd:**

Which guy 

There were a lot of guys

**Wooyoung:**

The little queer one who wants to go to the ball

**cute nerd:**

Oh 

The one who looked like he wanted to ride the eldest prince like a carriage?

**Wooyoung:**

Yeah

Little dragon-cat boy

**cute nerd:**

Who are you calling “little” 

**Wooyoung:**

Rude!

Listen

Us short people give the best cuddles

We’re necessary and needed 

You’re not that tall either those 2 knights were towering over all of us 

**cute nerd:**

Anyways

His name is on the tip of my tongue 

**Wooyoung:**

My brain won’t let me remember either 😭

But my point being: 

We could be his wingmen 

**cute nerd:**

That could be fun :') 

He’s not real though

None of it is real 

  
  


Wooyoung’s heart nosedives at a strange angle, plunging into the pit of his stomach, San’s words caught slightly under his skin. 

He knows this, he gets what San means, but it all felt real to Wooyoung. Can’t they just… ignore the fact that it’s all some sort of an illusion?

  
  


**Wooyoung:**

I should go home

  
  


Slowly, San looks up from his phone.

“Oh, yeah, right, it’s- it’s getting late,” he falters. “I should head home too….”

Wooyoung can tell that San can tell that he rubbed Wooyoung the wrong way. They could easily patch this up, right here and right now, but it’s uncomfortable, it’s so damn numb and moonless in this attic, and maybe it’s not as simple as it seems. 

Will they be able to go back to Crescent Kingdom? 

Would San even consider going back? 

San hides the vinyl record and the book in a place that Wooyoung doesn’t bother to bear in mind. 

They drift downstairs, where Wooyoung retrieves his satchel and coat from the storage closet. There seems to be something there in San’s downturned face, crestfallen underneath the surface when he closes the door. It really does feel as if they were just here, giggling with each other, keeping each other warm.

Why is there suddenly a frosty barrier between them.

Wooyoung can’t decide if he should go back to his share house or his grandmother’s place. It’s so weird, he would much rather go straight back into The Octarchy Princes than either one of these unavoidable, verifiable options. 

When they step outside into the downpour, San secures the front entrance of the library with a set of tarnished keys. Beneath the misty awning, Wooyoung and San lock eyes. 

Wooyoung swallows back some unexpected and vastly unwelcome tears. There’s an unknown in his core, pinching and painful.

_Already… already I’m losing somebody else._

San walks away, he has on a twill peacoat the color of autumn leaves. He opens his umbrella and it protects his blonde hair, and they go in opposite directions. 

Wooyoung rides his bike to his share house that lacks all warmth and comfort, the rain strewing wounds across his face, and a scar on his chest, right in his most vulnerable spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey wooyoung cheer up, u got the cute librarian’s phone number at least 🥺
> 
> !!!! HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE thank you SO MUCH for your kind thoughts towards the first chapter of this, you guys made me so excited to dive into it more!!! 😭💖💖 as always I am just one big bundle of APPRECIATION for all of you 🥺🥰
> 
> you’re all cordially invited to the grand ball next time, by the way 😌✨ I hope you’ll join me 💕💕💕💕
> 
> OH! and since I won’t be able to update until sometime around NYE most likely, I wanna go ahead and wish you guys a very merry christmas / happy holidays!!!! 🥰🌟 hoping for a happy & healthy end of the year for you and your loved ones!!! ❤️
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	3. The Pauper and the Organza Ribbon - PART I

Three days have trudged by since Wooyoung meandered into a magical storybook with his new friend who most likely doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore, and Wooyoung has cried for an accumulation of four hours per day but he’s ninety-nine percent certain that he’s done being miserable now. 

He hasn’t heard from San, and he hasn’t wandered over to the Choi library like he indisputably would have, if their unbelievable journey wouldn’t have ended on such a sour note. 

Every time Wooyoung pulls up his text messages with San, he can’t bring himself to send anything. And not because a hex is physically holding him back, he just can’t. 

Maybe he _isn’t_ anywhere near finished with weeping; not only is Wooyoung trying and failing to cope with having experienced something scientifically impossible, but he can’t get San’s face out of the room of mirrors in his mind. San’s toothy smile, the squeak in San’s laughter, the little millimeter of dark hair coming in at San’s roots, San’s cheekbones sweeping in a healthful tonic similar to sparkling cider, the pretty slant that is the silhouette of San’s nose. What a tragic phenomenon it was to have held San’s hand only once. 

It’s almost annoying, more than anything else. San was just the nameless, mesmeric librarian who was the bullseye of Wooyoung’s fascination for months on end, but as soon as they jumped the railing it’s as if Wooyoung’s heart was given permission to yearn. Wooyoung isn’t so sure that he signed up for all of this. 

With a sigh heavy enough to be heard all the way in the Kingdom of Crescent, Wooyoung stands in his grandmother’s kitchen and cleans the dishes alongside a numb silence. The slumping afternoon light is prickly, coming in through the window above the old cast iron sink. 

Just like with San, Wooyoung is literally unable to utter a single word to his grandmother regarding The Octarchy Princes. He hasn’t bothered trying to write anything out like he and San did because his grandmother’s eyesight has been giving her trouble these days, and especially this past week. She didn’t even read the newspaper yesterday like she regularly does. 

After tidying up, Wooyoung fixes the slumpy taupe cardigan over his shoulders and drags his feet into the living room with yet another agitated sigh. 

“Halmeoni, does magic exis-” 

In her chair next to the wood burning fireplace, the elderly woman is asleep in a tranquility that even Wooyoung can’t disturb. 

Running his fingers through his hair, Wooyoung walks over to her perch. He grabs a fleece blanket from the couch and tucks it around her. 

He curls up on the couch, rests the side of his face down, and watches the hearth. He listens to his grandmother snore and waits for the fire to burn down, he waits until his vision is seared, until there’s nothing left for him to smolder over. 

Sometimes you just need a day, or two, or more; to be out of humor, to mope, to despair. 

With an ignition that he never knew before now, Wooyoung springs to his feet and takes to the spare bedroom where practically half of his belongings are kept. 

He sifts through the timber wardrobe and throws on a pair of plaid toffee trousers in place of his pajama bottoms, and a crisp button-down to layer underneath his cardigan. 

It’s a blustery bicycle ride to the venerated place where all of Wooyoung’s dependencies and weaknesses embrace. 

The somber halls and the _tap tap tap_ of his loafers on the buffed flooring guides him in and through comfy little corners of the Choi family library, until he spots San in a brown houndstooth sweater vest, rather lethargically and mechanically placing books in their slots on the shelves in the Children’s section. 

San looks pretty startled to see Wooyoung rush up out of nowhere, and Wooyoung’s voice runs ahead of them both at half volume. 

“I haven’t slept in days I’m dehydrated even the piano isn’t making me happy I just sit on the toilet and stare at the wall and have a nervous breakdown every time and I can’t stop thinking about what we did.”

  
  


_And I’m a loser and my only friend is my Halmeoni and I miss you._

  
  


Wooyoung swallows back any further thoughts and keeps his pleading gaze on San. 

“…Wooyoung…,” is all San says. 

His eyes are dewy, and he looks just as tired as Wooyoung feels. 

The two of them shuffle a bit in place, cloddish while a kid at a nearby table stares at them over the top of his picturebook.

Inhaling through his nose, Wooyoung digs around in his pocket for his phone. 

  
  


**Wooyoung:**

We were invited by royalty to a grand ball

Who are we to turn that down? 

  
  


It takes San several seconds to tear his focus off of Wooyoung, and to retrieve his own phone, and when he does, he pauses yet again. 

  
  


**cute nerd:**

Can you wait 3 hours?

  
  


And Wooyoung knows that if he was able to wait three days for this moment, that he can certainly wait a few hours more. 

Wooyoung wonders if they missed the grand ball, he wonders how the whole time situation works exactly. Time didn’t pass in the real world during their absence; will the story pick back up right where they left off? 

No more than ten minutes after the library closes at 6:00 PM is when San meets Wooyoung back in the public restrooms, where he hid and did breathing exercises in between dicking around on his phone and taking mirror selcas. 

San leads the moonlit way up the spiral staircase with a battery-operated torch this time instead of a candlestick, Wooyoung doesn’t even have to request it. They don’t hold hands. 

But for Wooyoung it feels so stupidly good to be with San again, just to walk in the wake of his graceful footpath. 

In all honesty, Wooyoung is scared. 

Going to Crescent Kingdom was comparable to falling asleep, but the thought alone is still a little trippy. Nothing went wrong last time though, he didn’t lose his body, his soul wasn’t misplaced. It just felt as if something was carrying him, and that peculiar something felt like it was in his favor. 

They don’t dawdle once they’re ushered up the creaky hidden ladder and into the attic. Without discussing anything further, San fetches both the hardback copy and the vinyl copy of The Octarchy Princes from where he had concealed them in a smaller, blanketed bookshelf. 

San hands Wooyoung the book and pivots in the dark towards the record players. Wooyoung can just barely see without the torch, but he can tell that the pages of the book are still empty. 

After getting the record up and running, San rejoins Wooyoung and they both take a seat on the floor. San gets comfortable and lies down on his stomach, hiding his face in the bed of his arms a little bit. Wooyoung decides to do the same, and reclines so that his unconscious form won’t have anywhere to fall. 

With his heart beating out of his chest, Wooyoung wills himself to concentrate on the audio recording, to not think too deeply about anything, because he’s done enough of that as of lately. He relaxes his muscles as best as he can in the midst of the crackling of the record player, and it’s one of the same voices as last time that helps him with that. 

Wooyoung is hit head-on with a chilling mollification as the recognizable deeper voice begins the reading, but the passage is definitely different this time. It skips over the introductory blurb about the Masked Man and the Hourglass.

  
  


_“This is the tale of the Princess and the Abandoned Item._

_If there was ever a time to believe in one’s self,_

_the time is now_ …. _”_

Wooyoung catches a glimpse of San peeking at him in the twilight, his liquified gaze dozy, and their eyelids flicker to and fro, until they’re spirited away. 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

It’s evening in the meadow. 

Wooyoung is undergoing a jolt of excitement that’s somehow potent enough to cut through the terrible haziness that’s weighing him down. 

His awareness defies gravity and he opens his eyes to the sight of stars, millions and trillions of stars from where he’s lying on his back, but there’s no sign of the moon. 

There is a tremendous gleaming in the distance though, above the treeline and suspended in the troposphere; coming from the castle perhaps?

Wooyoung feels as though he just woke up from the snuggliest nap, and reposed by his side is San smiling sleepily back at him. 

  
  


_We’re back._

  
  


This is officially a thing. The vinyl record really does take them to a storybook land. 

It does look to be the same exact clearing in the forest that they teleported to the first time. A warm breeze is blowing through the dusky grasslands, and a pale blue glow appears to be emanating from within the wilderness. 

Wooyoung doesn’t hear any sort of singing like before, the song of the trees is replaced by a mild humming, a buzz that resembles the sound of cicadas and crickets quarreling. 

Helping each other up to stand, San and Wooyoung carefully find their footing together, and from there they let their weakened knees carry them into the woods. 

“It’s beautiful…,” San whispers as they proceed through the thicket, as he continues to lift his face up towards the freckled sky. 

Wooyoung peers over at San and simply nods his head in agreement.

It doesn’t take them long at all to reach the source of the azure light, and the snap of a branch beneath Wooyoung’s shoe startles them just as much as the unforeseen voice that calls out for them. 

“There you are!”

It’s the seamster with his pet dragon. 

He waves Wooyoung and San over, truly as if they had parted ways just yesterday. 

“I took your questionable yet enthralling advice,” he says, “I crafted a gown for myself to wear to this evening’s grand ball. Did you two end up with an invitation?” 

There’s a dress draped on the limb of a tree, the flowy material is glimmering radiantly, it’s a very pretty pastel periwinkle. And like chameleons, both the dragon’s scales and the butterflies that he’s jumping at are glowing in the dark in a similar hue. 

“Uh, yeah, we did actually… the blonde prince invited us,” San tells him.

“What’s your name again?” Wooyoung asks. 

The pauper cocks an eyebrow at Wooyoung and rolls his eyes. 

“I’m Hongjoong, air-for-brains,” he mutters. 

San giggles at the insult. 

Wooyoung glares and crosses his arms over his chest. “Excuse me? Not everybody is good at learning names!” 

“You made that?” San asks Hongjoong, pointing at the striking gown. 

“Yes. I did not slumber last night,” Hongjoong says. 

“So, remind us, why are you crashing the grand ball?” Wooyoung questions. 

“No particular reason,” Hongjoong huffs after looking confused for a second, and he fiddles with his bare earlobe, almost out of habit, almost as if there were jewelry in a familiar piercing there. 

“It’s purely the fact that only maidens are invited to these gatherings, to serve the princes in their quest for choosing their princesses…,” he goes on. “Only certain men are invited, such as those who are noble-born, and you. I’m not a nobleman in any way. Which is why I’ve enquired Jongho for help.” 

On cue, Jongho walks out from behind a nearby tree. 

“Hello,” he croons. 

His raspberry fringe is swept up, leaving his forehead exposed. He’s wearing a splendid tailcoat once again. 

“Jongho has a fair amount of magical abilities, he’s going to perform a spell on my hair,” Hongjoong explains.

Jongho smiles faintly at this and places his hand on his chin while he surveys Hongjoong. “How long do you fancy it to be?”

“All the way down to my bottom, please,” is Hongjoong’s answer. 

The brief incantation that Jongho murmurs is more or less imperceptible, but it’s entirely effective as Hongjoong’s brunette locks begin to lengthen in front of their very eyes, growing longer until it grazes the curve of his bum. It’s much like Hongjoong’s normal hair in its free-spirited waves, it’s disheveled but the look pairs well with the fire behind his eyes. 

With a creased brow, Wooyoung stares at the transformative results. “Why the hair though? You look fine the way you are.”

“Just to be safe,” Hongjoong replies. “They might pitch me into the dungeons if they know that I am not a maiden.” 

“That doesn’t sit right with me,” San says. 

“Yeah, that sucks, since when does length of hair mean anything?” Wooyoung frowns. “Your masculinity and femininity shouldn’t determine how accepted you are, or your self-worth, you know? Things shouldn’t have to be so starkly black and white.”

Hongjoong blinks in thought. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“No it’s not okay…,” Wooyoung mumbles. 

At this, Hongjoong starts stripping his clothes while he informs Wooyoung and San that he sewed and brought along acceptable outfits for them to wear to the ceremony as well. 

But before anything else, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho help Hongjoong into his gown. It’s an off-the-shoulder dress, and Hongjoong made with it a sheer choker to match. 

Still in his dragon form, Pan is digging holes in the earth close by while the four of them struggle with the bulky garment, his furnace eyes ablaze as he’s snorting flames and swishing his thorny tail. 

“Why do these butterflies like you so damn much,” Wooyoung grumbles. 

“I don’t know, they’re quite annoying,” Hongjoong says, swatting at the sapphire insects hovering around at the crown of his head. 

Hongjoong is being annoyingly particular about how tight he wants his corset to be, and Wooyoung has taken charge at pulling on the laces accordingly. 

“Damn, Hong. Your tits,” Wooyoung comments, seriously impressed in regards to what this getup is doing for the pauper’s figure. 

Flustered, Hongjoong bats his eyelids in a bashful shock, his waterfall of hair swishing around as he wiggles in place, and Wooyoung holds onto the strings to keep him steady which only results in Hongjoong letting out a small whimper of surprise. 

“S-Sorry- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Wooyoung blurts, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. 

Sometimes, a lot of the time, Wooyoung feels like there’s too much of him. He’s too pushy, too flippant and overburdening. He forgets too easily that, if he wants people to actually stick around in his life, he needs to try harder at giving himself out to others in smaller doses. He makes everyone uncomfortable, and he makes himself uncomfortable in turn. 

“No, no, you’re quite alright….” 

Hongjoong takes a moment to catch his breath and he doesn’t divert his gaze. Wooyoung can’t help but notice how outrageously long this guy’s eyelashes are. Wooyoung is also unbelievably relieved that Hongjoong doesn’t seem to loathe him or anything. 

Before he has the chance to utter any more outspoken truths, Wooyoung feels San’s warm sigh in his ear. He feels San’s arms wrap around him from behind, and it sends a shockwave of chills down Wooyoung’s spine. 

“Can you help me get dressed too…?” San hums. 

  
  


_Oh… okay. So this is how it’s going to be_.

  
  


San may very well be the first person ever, the only person ever, that Wooyoung has felt this akin to in ways that have always thwarted him. 

After successfully not losing his shit, and after finishing up with the corset predicament, Wooyoung watches in amazement as Jongho does a handy little spell on the spare garments that Hongjoong brought, making them nicely pressed and less wrinkly. 

Wooyoung and San promptly begin getting dressed as Hongjoong blubbers on about the night growing older and late arrivals, and Wooyoung gets an eyeful of San’s arms and his stomach and it’s clear to see that he’s built underneath all of those cozy autumnal outfits. 

This is cool. Just hanging out in the forest with guys, this is pretty magnificent. Wooyoung looks from San’s abs up to the night sky and he almost sheds a tear or two. 

They’re lucky it’s so pleasant out, it wouldn’t be ideal trying to change clothes in the cold. This climate is welcoming, with glister bugs flying around by the plenty, Wooyoung and his companions blowing them away, watching them shine and vanish in the nightfall. 

It’s a set of tweed vests with linen poet blouses that Hongjoong has provided for San and Wooyoung, along with breeches that are slim around the calves and billowy at the thighs. 

San has his glasses removed and he runs a hand through his hair as Wooyoung assists him in buttoning up. 

“It’s just a vest, why do you need help?” Wooyoung asks San as casually as he can muster. “Can’t see with your glasses off?” 

“Oh, those are fake,” San says. “I don’t actually need glasses to see. They’re just for the whole librarian aesthetic, you know.”

He winks at Wooyoung and stares down at him with a smirk, and Wooyoung, now feeling _too_ warm and as though he’s been lied to, nudges at his own glasses that he absolutely does need in order to see. 

With the four of them nearly set to head off for the castle, Jongho looks them over to make sure that they’re all fit to be seen, and Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong throw their normal clothes over the boughs of a tree. 

They use a berry to redden Hongjoong’s lips. They don’t use any for blush because they figure he’s already blushing like crazy anyway. 

He looks exquisite though; the skirt of his gown voluminous, his shoulders soft and lean. 

He has his hip jutted out with stern arms crossed over his chest when they all finally decide that they’re ready to start their trek through the woods, and Pan changes into his cat form faster than lightning and runs off somewhere as they do. 

Hongjoong is mostly quiet as they journey through the temperate, twinkling forest, but Wooyoung and San chat with Jongho and they get a chance to compliment him on his singing voice. They ask him if he performs at the grand balls, to which he informs them that he regularly does. 

The closer they get to the kingdom, the more visible the smoke clouds from chimneys in the village become, and a certain whir of people congregating takes the place of all other greenwood sounds once embodied in the air. 

Wooyoung feels as though he’ll never run out of things to be astonished by in this realm. He can’t even wrap his head around just how long or fast it took them to reach the illuminated courtyard, where all of the lucky ones are dressed in their finest, sauntering up the main staircase leading into the utopian fortress painted in white. 

Hongjoong is receiving quite a bit of attention, probably because he’s with unknown people and the legendary Jongho. They’ve barely stepped foot onto the castle grounds and lingering maidens are already staring steely daggers at him. 

“The Jongho stans do not look happy…,” San says under his breath. 

Sticking close together, Wooyoung, San, Hongjoong, and Jongho join the upstream crowds and climb the stairs. When they reach the top, maidens start calling Hongjoong names as they walk by.

_“Shrew!”_

_“Hag!”_

_“Ogress!”_

_“Whore!”_

It’s a shrill, grating chatter, and Wooyoung, San, and Jongho all exchange alarmed looks. 

“Are you sure you want to be a girl? These bitches are ruthless,” Wooyoung mutters. 

Hongjoong is staring straight ahead, lifting the skirt of his gown just enough so that he doesn’t trip on it. 

“What was that word, the one you said was an enhancer?” he asks. 

“Fuck?” San offers. 

“Yes, that. I don’t care much of a fuck what these vultures think. I’m going to the grand ball and nobody can stop me,” Hongjoong asserts, adjusting the periwinkle ribbon around his neck. 

And with that, the four of them enter past the open gates of the stronghold where a cheerful, honey-dunked light greets them. 

Jongho leads the way through the stupendous entrance hall to the grand ballroom, since Wooyoung and San can’t remember exactly where things were from their tour with Prince Yeosang, and because Hongjoong has never been inside of the castle until now. 

The ballroom is lively, a scene from a renaissance painting, but with ample room for waltzing and visiting with other prestigious guests. A cellist, violinist, harpist, and some sort of clarinet or flute player are stationed in the nearest alcove, yielding silvery melodies to sway to. 

There’s no one here to really check anybody’s legitimacy, not like a bouncer at the doors of a nightclub like Wooyoung envisioned there might be. 

On the furthest side of the expansive room is an ornamented, curtained wall that’s very reminiscent of what could be found in a throne room. There’s a large throne-like armchair in the center, and two smaller ones on either side. That whole area is currently unoccupied. 

There seems to be different groupings of people, there’s definitely a clear separation in how these loyal subjects are mingling, but Wooyoung can’t put his finger on what the context behind this might be. Jongho has stepped away and is already conversing with a lordly husband and wife with their frilly daughter in tow. And it’s hard not to spot the royal knights; there are twenty or so of them all gathered together, and they’re dressed in uniforms that are similar to what Wooyoung and San are wearing, just a deluxe version. 

“God, everyone here is so attractive… I feel really out of place,” Wooyoung gripes as he sweeps his hair away from his eyes somewhat anxiously. 

San makes a face and elbows Wooyoung softly. 

“You fit right in,” he says. 

Wooyoung stares at him, expressionless yet blushing beyond a doubt. 

The longer the three of them just stand around, the more Wooyoung realizes how awkward all of this is. The atmosphere isn’t unbearable or anything, it’s just that everyone is either slow dancing or mindlessly loitering. 

It isn’t too much longer before a sprinkling of handmaids or servants of some kind come bumbling out of nowhere, fussing over the royals that they’re escorting into the room. 

Prince Yeosang is clothed in white from head to toe, he looks expensive, he looks like he snacks on dark chocolate truffles garnished with edible gold leaf. He also looks like he could use a drink. 

Even Hongjoong, despite him being the one who wanted to come here so badly, seems a bit unnerved, and bored even, until the young man trailing behind Prince Yeosang appears. 

It’s a velveteen suit of peacock-blue that Prince Seonghwa wears beautifully, as though it truly was stitched for him in a precise regard. His black hair almost appears dampened, and it’s tousled in the most careful moderation, tickling at his eyelids. Wooyoung can almost imagine him being in a lipstick commercial or something with that sultry of a pout. He really woke up and chose violence. 

When Hongjoong sees the eldest prince there are absolute shooting stars in his eyes. 

“He has a nice appearance, doesn’t he,” San says warmly, materializing by Hongjoong’s side and interrupting him in his little reverie. 

It’s clear that Hongjoong is ruffled by this, Wooyoung is prepared to see him hiss or bite San’s shoulder. 

“He looks so damn good in that prince costume or whatever it’s actually called,” Wooyoung adds with an esteemed sigh. 

“His royal regalia,” Hongjoong corrects him, glowering. 

Prince Yeosang makes a beeline to go sit down, but Prince Seonghwa takes long strides out onto the marble floor, blessing everyone who acknowledges him with a calm smile. He approaches a damsel wearing a gown that resembles a peach cupcake and asks for her hand in a dance. 

Regardless of his best efforts not to, Hongjoong continues to gaze at the raven-haired prince, spinning and sparkling in rhythm with the miniature orchestra. 

Hongjoong is wringing together his delicate hands, and his countenance completely melts. His eyes are half-lidded, the flush across his nose and cheeks now a blossoming pink. 

“…I wonder what it would be like… to be held…,” he says dreamily, dazed. 

“Held by who?” San prods, leaning an arm on Hongjoong’s shoulder with a wily grin. 

“N-No one in particular!” Hongjoong snaps. 

He fists the skirt of his gown and turns his nose up and off to the side. 

Prince Seonghwa ends the dance with quite a bit of haste, but he does so in a polite manner, and although Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong can’t hear him from this distance, he definitely sighs loudly. He looks up and around at the walls as if he intends to check the time, but there are no clocks. 

This is when his big galaxy eyes snag on their trio. He pauses and blinks at them endearingly. 

“He saw you and he’s blushing!” San and Wooyoung pant in simultaneous excitement. They each take one of Hongjoong’s arms and they shake him. 

“Oh highest heavens,” Hongjoong wheezes, “has my hideous existence inspired him to fall ill with a fever?”

Wooyoung crinkles his nose. “Hideous is a weird way to pronounce _gorgeous_.”

Both Hongjoong and San give him a look, and then trade glances. 

“We don’t like you,” San tells Wooyoung in a playful tone, and he enfolds Hongjoong in a back hug which causes the pauper to yelp. 

Unexpectedly, Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho walk by, and they wave at Wooyoung and San.

Their hair is slicked back, much like Jongho’s, and the both of them are looking sharp in their fancy knight’s attire. They come over with their sleeves rolled up and they bow to Hongjoong. Hongjoong curtsies and almost loses his balance. 

They all chat for a little while. 

At this point, the princes are now seated in their plush armchairs, eyeing each other in silence by the curtained wall. 

Wooyoung has noticed that the eldest prince has a habit of biting his lips and teetering back and forth. 

“Why do Prince Yeosang and Prince Seonghwa look at each other like that?” San asks, pretty much reading Wooyoung’s mind spot-on. 

Yunho looks from San, to the pair of royals, and back again. 

“Oh, I’m unsure. They are both under a terrible amount of pressure to marry and to rule. They’re more than likely sending each other desperate signals for help,” the knight says. 

“Are you sure they’re not just horny?” Wooyoung deflects. 

“What’s that,” Mingi questions. 

“It’s when you can’t stop touching your dick,” Wooyoung replies, and he points down towards Mingi’s crotch so that he doesn’t have to delve into that separate explanation. 

“Oh, yeah, that,” Mingi says, nonchalant. He offers an airy upward nod in understanding.

Yunho clears his throat and gives Hongjoong, whose eyebrows just shot up to the ceiling, a deeply apologetic look before turning back to Wooyoung and San. “The totality of the land is waiting for them to choose maidens to become their princesses and eventually our queens of the kingdom, but we just keep waiting… and waiting.” 

“Oh shit…,” Wooyoung murmurs in awe.

“Indeed,” Jongho chimes in, finally rejoining their group. “There are a few promising candidates for each prince, damsels from well-to-do families. These gatherings are an ideal opportunity for the princes to share a dance with the fair ladies and to become better acquainted with them.”

Wooyoung peers over at the two emotionally-constipated young men in royal garb. 

Jongho continues. “I am now going to recite. Please, come up towards the front, your favor and goodwill would be greatly appreciated.” 

And they do just that. 

Along with Yunho and Mingi, Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong make their way further into the space so that they can support Jongho by his side, and the entire room has begun prattling in anticipation for this performance. 

It’s unmistakable that Prince Yeosang is aware of San and Wooyoung’s attendance, now that they’re no more than ten feet away and very obviously tagging along with Jongho. 

Jongho stands adjacent to the area with the empty middle throne. He clasps his hands together with patience, and waits for all of the Crescent daydreamers to huddle closer and for the room to grow quieter.

He closes his eyes and parts his lips. 

  
  


_“O dazzling dancers, dazzling light,_

_In rooms missing memories kept at sea._

_Here where treasures are concealed in plain sight,_

_A home where no mortal would wish to flee._

_Come spinning and twirling, falling in love,_

_One’s pining joins a cruel desire for bliss._

_And will there be freedom or lack thereof?_

_Fate leads you such as a passionate kiss._

_But our King is still the keeper of time,_

_In his drought this liberty we shall wait._

_For his promises are surely divine,_

_Where we will meet our choice at darkness’s gate._

_O please Lost One, remember who you are,_

_Precious and borrowed from a realm afar.”_

  
  


The ballroom explodes in applause. A countless number of maidens sound like they’re giving birth or something. 

Wooyoung is quite delighted himself, this sonnet was really different from the one that Jongho presented in the courtyard. Wooyoung turns his head to beam at San, but San is facing forward. 

He’s clapping along with everyone else, but he’s not smiling. He’s pensive. 

Wooyoung is about to ask San if he’s okay, when Prince Yeosang rises to his feet and the crowd falls silent once more. 

The gold-crowned prince is zeroing in on Wooyoung and San in an unreadable air. 

“We welcome this evening’s guests,” he announces flatly, “they are two people whomst we have never seen before and we are all very confused.”

Prince Yeosang sits back down. Both San and Wooyoung look to Hongjoong in a panic, but Hongjoong glances off to the side and scratches his head as if he doesn’t know them. Wooyoung gapes at him.

In their sudden limelight, Wooyoung and San wave inelegantly at everyone and they shuffle a little closer to the front. 

“Shit- do you think they expect a speech or an offering or a sacrifice or something?” Wooyoung whispers to San. 

“Do you have music on your phone?” San whispers back. 

Wooyoung hesitates for a second, and then feels around for where he slipped his phone inside the pocket of his vest. He hadn’t considered this until now. Sure, there’s no way for them to get phone service or WiFi in this place, but the downloaded music and media on their phones might still be able to function in this world. 

“Hey Jongho, can I borrow some of your magic?”

After waving Jongho over, and telling him that they need the music to be loud like a concert, and then explaining to him what a concert is, Wooyoung watches Jongho cast an amplification spell on his phone. 

Wooyoung hits shuffle on his music and ITZY’s ‘DALLA DALLA’ Dallask Remix comes on and the room is filled not only with the song but with bewildered gasps as well. 

Wooyoung squints at the screen. It’s kind of random, but he shrugs and nods down at his phone. It’ll be perfect to dance to.

“Louder!” Wooyoung requests as he sets his phone down on the ground, and Jongho, completely unbothered, amps the volume up while everyone in the grand ballroom continues to squawk in astonishment at what they’re hearing. 

San shouts something unintelligible and claps his hands as Wooyoung starts to get into the song. San bobs his head to the beat, they lock smiling eyes, and they start dancing together. 

Mingi and Yunho are vibing. Hongjoong is gawking but also tapping his foot as if he can’t help it. Maidens are downright squealing, people are pushing each other to get a better view. 

Wooyoung rolls his body and winks in Prince Yeosang and Prince Seonghwa’s general direction but this whole thing feels surreal right now and everything is moving too fast so he doesn’t catch their reactions. 

San moves effortlessly, he’s fluent in this body language. He’s a seriously good dancer, and this discovery is only hyping Wooyoung up even more. San’s hair color reminds Wooyoung of the ivory keys of a piano. And San’s smile; how could anybody not smile when Choi San is smiling and radiating such a bright and all-consuming life-light. 

By the second chorus San and Wooyoung have their own little choreography going, they’re getting expressive with mouthing the lyrics and their bodies are in sync. They’re in their own little world.

The end of the song takes Wooyoung by surprise, he’s breathing heavily and his glasses are sliding down his nose when he skips over to his phone and reaches down to press pause on the screen. Wooyoung feels great, Wooyoung feels alive. This was the adrenaline rush he so desperately needed. 

It’s an abrupt silence that follows the chaos.

Prince Yeosang stands up again, with a new coat of blush swept on his skin. 

“I request to hear this devastatingly contagious song once more,” he proclaims. 

Wooyoung’s smile breaks loose across his face, and he fulfills the prince’s demand. 

Wooyoung starts dancing much, much closer to San now and San isn’t pulling away and a bunch of Hongjoong’s clingy little butterflies have found their way to the pit of Wooyoung’s stomach. He sees a few maidens nearby hold their friend up because she passed out a little bit. 

Most people are dancing now though and the castle is throbbing and bass-heavy. Everyone seems to like ITZY, so Wooyoung sticks with the girl groups. He plays some TWICE, EVERGLOW, DREAMCATCHER; everyone really likes DREAMCATCHER. 

With spines stiff, the princes stand side by side in front of their seats. They appear to be positively distressed and, even though it’s unclear as to whether or not they really do want to be able to dance freely just like anybody else, Wooyoung feels sorry for them. Joining in would be sure to tarnish their image. 

Hongjoong is getting involved now and he dances like an old man and Wooyoung has to admit that it’s pretty cute. Jongho is getting really into it, he’s doing a lot of spins and he’s actually kind of feeling himself, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if it’s all just in his head but Prince Yeosang’s eyes keep shifting between Jongho, San, and the floor. 

After several songs gone by, Wooyoung and San teach Yunho how to slut drop. Mingi has conveniently chosen to take a rest, but he is watching the lessons and he looks like he’s really going through it. 

“It has been terribly rude of me to not have asked your name,” Yunho says, addressing Hongjoong out of the blue. He sounds winded under all of his exertion. 

Hongjoong opens his mouth, closes it, curtsies, and then opens it again. “I’m Hon- Hongelina.”

Wooyoung facepalms. 

“Dearest Hongelina, you look familiar somehow,” Yunho replies breathlessly, captivated even if Wooyoung didn’t know any better. 

“Aren’t you that little peasant boy with the black cat,” Mingi asks.

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San, and Yunho’s jaws fall open. Jongho just smiles and closes his eyes. 

“Holy goodness…,” Yunho says, not far from a whisper. His face is flushed and he appears lightheaded. 

With his brow furrowed in fear, Hongjoong recoils. 

“…Please… please do not arrest me,” he utters in a quiet desperation. 

Both Yunho and Mingi look around, apprehensive, and together they step off to the side where they whisper and study Hongjoong conspicuously for a minute or two. 

They return to the group with relaxed postures. 

“We’ve determined that it’s been far too pleasant of an evening and we don’t feel like causing a scene by seizing you and dragging you to the dungeons,” Yunho says. 

“You are a companion of Jongho, Wooyoung, and San. And additionally, you seem nice,” Mingi concludes. 

Hongjoong breathes a huge sigh of relief. He smiles brilliantly, thanks the knights, and reintroduces himself. 

“Let’s all continue dancing together?” Yunho suggests.

And that’s exactly what the six of them proceed to do, but it’s only a song later when Wooyoung feels San yanking on his shirt sleeve as if there’s some kind of an emergency going on. 

Wooyoung follows the trajectory of San’s frantic eyes, and sees Prince Seonghwa gazing very openly and directly at Hongjoong who’s shaking his ass like an awkward little duck. 

San and Wooyoung pull Hongjoong aside. 

“He’s totally checking you out!” Wooyoung says. 

“He’s only looking over here because of you two eccentrics and your pirate music!” Hongjoong hisses.

“No he totally wants to take the dress that you poured your soul into and lost sleep over sewing by hand and rip it off your body and have his wicked way with you,” San pouts. 

Hongjoong releases a noise of woe-drenched doubt. 

“He can probably decipher that I am not a beautiful maiden…. I wish I was born differently.”

Wooyoung’s heart plummets at hearing this. 

He peeks at San, who is markedly saddened, too. 

There are tears forming in the corners of Hongjoong’s eyes. He looks crushed, tortured even. 

“Hongjoongie….”

As everyone continues to weave and glide around them, San and Wooyoung stand on either side of the pauper. They place gentle arms around him, and he lets them. 

Wooyoung inhales. “Hey didn’t you hear the lyrics of that one song? ‘I’m something different’, ‘I’m just the way I am’, ‘I don’t want to change’, ‘I like my style because that’s me’?” 

“Yeah, you should channel that energy!” San agrees. 

“I didn’t recognize or understand the language,” Hongjoong sulks.

“What- wait,” Wooyoung says, “you’re- we talk to each other in Korean… how could you not understand the song….” 

Again, Wooyoung and San peer at each other, and together they share an ill feeling in this odd discovery. 

Hongjoong just holds onto his forearms and sniffles. He looks down at his old shoes peeking out from under the hem of his gown.

“Do you like to dance?” San asks Hongjoong, keeping his voice light and airy. 

Hongjoong nods and perks up somewhat. “Yes I do. Your music is fascinating and invigorating, how is this style of music produced? Is it by magic?” 

Wooyoung laughs through his nose. “No, we don’t have magic, it’s-”

“Oh _heavens_ he’s approaching- what do I do,” Hongjoong interrupts, his hands latching onto San and Wooyoung as the three of them witness Prince Seonghwa step away from his post and take purposeful strides in their exact direction. 

“Start twerking!” San yells. 

“Flutter your insanely long eyelashes!” Wooyoung tells him. 

San gasps. “Hong, your hair….”

Like a field of nocturne glister bugs, the spell on Hongjoong’s hair is fading. His lengthened locks are fragmenting on the ends in a harsh luminosity. 

For a moment Wooyoung worries that Hongjoong has stopped functioning altogether. 

With eyes dilated in dread, Hongjoong looks down at the withering hair spilling over his shoulders, up to the prince crowned in silver, and he sucks in a steep breath. 

_“Fuck.”_

And he runs off towards the exit. 

“Hongjoong!” Wooyoung and San shout in unison. 

But Hongjoong stops for no one, he’s bunching up his skirt as he flies like the wind, fleeing so fast that the loosened choker around his neck falls to the floor. Prince Seonghwa bends down to scoop it up. 

“Wait!” the prince calls out. 

Hongjoong tears out of the ballroom in a blaze, in a malcontent and mesmerizing metamorphose, disappearing in a trail of stardust. 

Prince Seonghwa stands as lonesome charcoal in the foreground of particolored finery, all of the splendor and nameless characters misty around him in this panorama. 

He tremors under a heavy breath, and looks to the ribbon in his hand. He lifts his chin once more and stares longingly through the elaborate opal doors of the hall. He stands still, as though he’s not allowed to chase after anything at all. 

San has his hands clasped together and he’s biting at his lip, and Wooyoung groans in defeat. 

Hongjoong almost had a chance to meet with the eldest prince, but he ran from it. Wooyoung gets it though. There are a lot of what-ifs. What if Hongjoong does get punished for breaking the ridiculous rules. What if Hongjoong has to face rejection. 

Wooyoung has never had much luck with his own love life. He’s got nothing better to do than to make sure that these two fictional characters hookup at least. Wooyoung takes a moment to ponder the fact that maybe he really is losing his mind.

Jongho drifts over to San and Wooyoung and tuts regretfully. “Ah, the charm I cast was only powerful enough for a short time, what a shame. I didn’t expect him to last this long into the evening.”

It’s a mystifying, almost spooky sensation following all of this, everything just falls apart in a way. Wooyoung cannot keep track of where everyone has gone. 

Mingi and Yunho say that it’s time for them to retire for the evening, Jongho bids them goodnight, too. The small ensemble resumes playing after Wooyoung turns his music off, and the affluent guests continue waltzing as if nothing happened, as if they’re nothing more than medieval mannequins. 

Wooyoung feels fuzzy, he feels intoxicated, iffy, implacable, impassioned; so many combinations of things. He doesn’t feel tired though. He wants to find Hongjoong, and maybe take some nighttime dragon-riding lessons for the hell of it. 

“…We should go home,” San says in an uneasy voice, tugging at the hem of Wooyoung’s vest. 

“Wait- maybe we could camp out in the forest?” Wooyoung proposes. “Jongho probably has a pretty nice place that we could crash at? Or- well, Mingi and Yunho most likely stay in special knights’ quarters, but we could try to find Hong and see if-”

“Wooyoung.” 

There’s something frightened in San’s eyes. 

  
  


_“…This is kind of like my safe place_ …. _”_

  
  


Wooyoung knows that he should feel lucky that San even left his safe place to come here again. But if Wooyoung had it his way, he’d love to stay for a while. Time doesn’t pass when they’re here, so it’s not like they’d be missing out on anything important in the real world. As much as Wooyoung loves his grandmother, having a few days off from caring for her would be really nice…. 

“We should go home for now… until next time,” San says carefully. 

“Next time? We’ll come back?” Wooyoung responds in a wholesome hopefulness. 

San scans Wooyoung’s face. 

“Mhm.”

They leave the blurry ballroom and take down the abandoned hallway. 

“Stop frolicking around,” San snaps faintly at Wooyoung who’s frisking and bouncing ahead. “We don’t know what’ll happen if we cause trouble here, we don’t want to get on anybody’s bad side….”

Wooyoung is about to remind San that they just took over a grand ball and got away with it, but San reaches out and entangles the fingers of his right hand with the ones on Wooyoung’s left, and Wooyoung temporarily forgets how to speak. 

Glancing down at their ruffled sleeves as they walk along, Wooyoung thinks about their clothes that they left in the forest’s care. 

“I think I remember where the library is…,” San mumbles. 

“Hey should we sneak around a little bit? See if there’s anything suspicious we can fi-” 

_“Wooyoung.”_

San halts them in their tracks, takes Wooyoung’s face in the palm of his hands, and squishes Wooyoung’s cheeks. He places his forehead on Wooyoung’s, but only for a nanosecond. 

This is enough to make Wooyoung shut up. 

San sighs, reclaims his companion’s hand, and continues leading them onwards. 

“From one library to another…,” San ponders aloud. “Pretty interesting, isn’t it….”

They do find the library drowning in daydreams, it’s just that Wooyoung scarcely perceives the fact that they do. Everything in existence and nonexistence is melting away even before they get to the throne of the hourglass. 

All Wooyoung knows is falling, falling into San’s arms. 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

The darkness of the attic welcomes them home. It’s quiet, it’s still.

Wooyoung can still hear melodies; sentimental like a music box chiming in his inner ear. He doesn’t especially like this earth-bound weight in his bones. He doesn’t want to think about much right now. 

One of his hands is tossed on San’s bicep. Wooyoung notices that the both of them are back in their own clothes again. 

“…That was wild, that was _wild_ ,” Wooyoung drawls, the side of his face smashed into the dusty wooden floor, and he hears San moan in agreement. 

That now-familiar obstruction in Wooyoung and San’s throats is preventing them from speaking of any details belonging to their travels.

Through leaden eyelids, they stare at each other. 

San roots around in his pocket for his phone, and Wooyoung does the same.

  
  


**cute nerd:**

If we teach them how to modern dance 

Maybe they could teach us how to slow dance 

  
  


Wooyoung soaks inside these words on the blinding screen of their lacking string of text messages, while San slowly pulls himself up to stand. After finding his balance, San extends a hand and helps Wooyoung up to his feet. 

Fragile yet fluid, San steps into Wooyoung’s space and draws him nearer, placing one hand on Wooyoung’s waist, and with the other he navigates their palms into a togetherness. And they rock back and forth like a ship at sea, dancing somewhere between unconsciousness and life. 

San hums a carefree carnival tune that tapers off when he stops rotating them and draws back, ever so slightly, to stare at the person in his arms.

Wooyoung’s heart leaps and he doesn’t let go, because he doesn’t want San to let him go. 

“S-Same time tomorrow…?” Wooyoung tries, and he gulps. 

It’s a pause verging on a lifetime that unlocks San’s murmur in reply. 

“…Okay. Same time tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I rlly did shuffle my music and the [DALLA DALLA remix](https://youtu.be/fw8l3YUpae8) is what we got lol so I went with that and the lyrics were a great fit for hong’s story too 👌💙
> 
> WE WILL FINALLY SPEAK WITH PRINCE HWA IN CHAPTER 4 I PROMISE 
> 
> why do I feel like this is turning into a fantasy AU parody and why am I not even surprised 😂 thank you guys SO MUCH for reading this chapter 💖💖💖 been keeping your kind words close to my heart as I work on this 🥰
> 
> btw the tagged relationships are like the endgame pairings but pls do lmk if there are any units you’d like to see more moments of!!! 👀
> 
> and happy new year, pals!! 🌟🌟 see u next timeeee
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	4. The Pauper and the Organza Ribbon - PART II

“ _This is the tale of the Prince and the Bluewood Spirit._

_Should even a crumb of wealth stand in the way of_

_Love at First Sight?_

_There exists no borderlines_

_And there is always a chance_

_in the meek meadow of First Love’s delight_ ….”

  
  


It’s the evening following their escapade at the grand ball, and this is what Wooyoung and San hear as they’re lying side by side on the attic floor of the Choi library, bundled up in knitted layers comprising of turtlenecks and cardigans on this extra chilly autumn day. 

They bask in the beam of their torch, and they glance at each other in a shared trance until they’re whisked off to the springtime realm. And Wooyoung wonders what San thinks about love. 

San claims that the only reason they’re going to Crescent today is because he left his glasses in the forest. 

For some puzzling reason, although they returned to the real world with their own clothes intact after the grand ball, San’s glasses did not return with them. 

None of their revelations are making much sense so far, but if anything, San’s glasses are proof that tangible things are able to stay tucked away inside of the story. 

Today, when Wooyoung and San awaken in Crescent Kingdom, they rise from their bed of yellow wildflowers, roll up their sleeves, and they race through the forest. The trees are blurring by them, in shadows crafted by the sunshine as gentle as a lullaby. The air here is so unusual, yet a now-recognized flavor, some woodland critters that remind Wooyoung of rabbits are sprinting alongside him and a giggling San, gold flecks are floating and reflecting light in the air. 

Wooyoung seriously needs to find a way to communicate with his grandmother about this. Maybe she has thrilling adventures to tell of, maybe she knows more about this. She said that she met her friends through this story. Did she and a group of her classmates stumble upon _The Octarchy Princes_ together? Or did she meet her friends inside of this wonderland. Can a person stay in this story forever if they so choose?

It’s a thorough fail trying to find the exact spot where they changed their clothes under the night sky and where San left his glasses, but any traces of disappointment are replaced by a keen curiosity, because the melodic trees are now starting to thin, revealing to them a corner of the kingdom that they haven’t seen until now. 

While they catch their breath from their run, Wooyoung and San are quick to discern that they aren’t anywhere near the open courtyard in front of the castle, and this place isn’t even half as bustling as that area is. Wooyoung peers around and does a three-sixty, and the sky-scraping palace is nowhere to be seen.

There are only a few quiet stragglers going about their day in what seems to be the heart of a village. Compact cottages sit prettily in a hodgepodge of unique designs and sizes. The overgrown pastures are a bassinet for horses and their stables, and flowers that look freshly painted are growing out of the cracks in the old stone lanes. Wooyoung and San pass by a maiden in her bonnet drawing water from a wishing well. It’s a calm day in town. 

Shoulder to shoulder, they cross over a little half-moon bridge, and the glistening river that it arches above is the first sign of any sort of body of water in this tale. 

Once Wooyoung and San are on the other side of the bridge, they just so happen to spot Pan in his cat form in someone’s backyard, eating away at the garden. 

They’re admittedly really pleased when the large black cat acknowledges their obnoxious greetings, and after the two of them give Pan’s belly a good rub, Pan rolls over and begins leading them down the road. 

Right around the bend is where Pan takes them, and they end up in front of a building that Wooyoung assumes is Hongjoong’s residence. It’s a larger home than some of the others, with smoke wafting out of the chimney stack and a wooden sign on brass hinges that reads _Kim Seamstresses, Clothier Services._

From where they’re standing near the side of the building, Wooyoung and San hear a solo voice singing. Pan slips through the fence, so they jump the enclosure and follow him further by going around back. 

On the opposite side of the home is a healthy garden bursting at the seams, and this is where Wooyoung and San see Hongjoong at work in a room on the upper floor, curtains thin and billowing in his open window. A large tree that resembles a misshapen oak is planted snug up against the cottage, and there’s a rickety ladder propped on the trunk that’s dressed in moss and mushrooms. 

“Hongjoongie!” Wooyoung calls out. 

“Oh, hi! Pan led you here?” Hongjoong shouts at them, leaning out of his window without delay.

He’s wearing glasses with round frames today, and a hat like a beret atop his messy brown hair. 

“Yeah!” San and Wooyoung reply together. 

“Do you like my tree?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Bruh, it’s fucking sick!” Wooyoung says, smiling as he squints up into the daylight. 

Hongjoong blinks from up in his perch. “I don’t know what that whole string of words is supposed to mean but please, climb up here and visit with me!”

Wooyoung and San use the ramshackle ladder, and one after another they clamber up the tree to its higher limbs. 

“Don’t you have a front door?” San questions. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong says, “but the seamstresses don’t like you!”

Wooyoung’s mouth pops open. “Excuse me what?”

“They’re very wary of pirates,” Hongjoong explains. 

“What about us is giving off pirate vibes, I don’t understand,” San mumbles. 

Very carefully, Wooyoung and San scoot and inch their way across the bough closest to Hongjoong’s window, and Hongjoong extends his arms and helps them crawl inside.

Hongjoong’s room is humble. A cluttered workbench and a well-used spinning wheel dominate most of the space. There are miscellaneous books scattered here and there, sewing materials strewn over nearly every available surface, and on the stand next to Hongjoong’s bed is a pipe that’s similar to a flute in appearance. 

“San, here are your spectacles,” Hongjoong says straight away, handing San his forgotten item that he has folded in a piece of cloth. 

“How are you…?” San asks Hongjoong, unwrapping his glasses and adjusting them on his face. 

Hongjoong releases a sigh and he doesn’t even try to dial back with the melodrama.

“I’m fine now. I spent five days and five nights lamenting, but I am finished now and I’m moving on with my life,” he says as he flops down on his tiny four-poster bed. 

“Wait- it’s been _five days_ since the grand ball?” Wooyoung gapes. 

He and San look at each other in utter bemusement. The timezones between these two worlds officially make zero sense. 

“…Hongjoong, we’re so… sorry. Sorry we couldn’t be here for you,” San says, and he really does sound sympathetic, and just as repentant as Wooyoung feels. 

Wooyoung is kind of surprised by San’s seriousness, considering how skeptical San still is about the legitimacy of everything that they’re experiencing. And Hongjoong is definitely taken aback; touched, almost. 

“It is fine. I am fine,” the pauper says in a small voice. 

Wooyoung knows that that’s bullshit, but what’s more is that in this moment, Wooyoung really does feel like he has every reason to believe that Hongjoong is… real. Alive. 

But, Hongjoong didn’t ask where Wooyoung and San have been for the past five days. He has yet to even ask them where they live. He hasn’t asked questions that most people in the real world certainly would have asked by now. 

“So…,” Wooyoung says, very much so wanting to keep things lighthearted all of a sudden, “is there someone in the castle who you think is hot?” 

Hongjoong flashes a suspicious glare at Wooyoung while he lifts himself up and criss-crosses his legs. “Hot? How would I know what temperature somebody is….”

“We’ll teach you everything you need to know!” San tells Hongjoong. “Basically, for example, if Wooyoung thinks that I’m hot, it means that he thinks I’m attractive.”

San has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he crinkles his nose a tad and leans in towards Wooyoung and Wooyoung is now regretting literally everything. 

“Y-You _wish_ ,” Wooyoung sputters at San, feeling foolish. He wonders if the castle has any job openings for a court jester. At this point he might as well apply. 

Hongjoong shifts his eyes back and forth between San and Wooyoung. 

“Anyways, you think Prince Seonghwa is sexy,” Wooyoung blabs at Hongjoong, trying to take the focus off of himself and anything related to his possible feelings for San. 

At this, the pauper goes rigid, blushes, and says nothing. People seem to at least know what sex is in this kingdom.

“You want Prince Hwa to bend you over your sewing table,” San adds buoyantly. 

“ _No-_ ” Hongjoong says with an energetic little snarl, and although it’s clear that he doesn’t exactly understand what San meant by that, he was armed and ready with his retort. 

“Damn okay then _you_ want to bend Prince Hwa over your sewing table,” Wooyoung says. 

Hongjoong doesn’t get a chance to bite back for a second time because there’s an abrupt commotion coming from outside of his closed door. The three of them fall silent and exchange looks as they detect this. 

They hear the clunk of knights’ armor resounding up from the first floor of the home, what sounds like five or six seamstresses freaking the fuck out, and a deep, muffled voice that’s enlivened with something more charming than a love potion. 

“Hello, good afternoon, it’s a glorious one, is it not? There are many Silksong birds that live near your dwelling, this is most certainly a blessed abode. There was a handsome one sat upon my shoulder right before you so kindly answered my knock on your door.”

There’s a rich yet gentle chuckle that follows, in addition to a burst of nervous laughter from the seamstresses. 

“I manifested this!” Wooyoung hisses in pride, as if his mere mention of Prince Seonghwa’s name had summoned him here. 

The deep voice, beyond a doubt belonging to Prince Seonghwa, carries on. 

“I thank you for your time. I’m here on a quest, one of the personal nature. I’m trying to find who in the village this item belongs to. I’d like to speak with everyone who resides here.”

Wooyoung can take a wild guess that the prince is referring to the choker that Hongjoong dropped when he fled from the grand ball, and Wooyoung finds it interesting that he said _everyone_ instead of wanting to speak only to the maidens who definitely would’ve been present at the event.

With their ears pressed on Hongjoong’s door, Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong listen to everything that’s going on downstairs as they proceed with losing their shit. 

“Holy fucking shit Prince Hwa is gonna be in your room!” Wooyoung whisper-yells. 

“You are going to invite him inside right?” San questions Hongjoong eagerly. 

Petrified, Hongjoong peels himself from the door and looks all around his small bedchambers, trying to tidy things up with his eyes. There’s fabric thrown everywhere and Pan is bathing himself in the corner. 

As he watches Hongjoong wobble in place, Wooyoung steps back as well. “Should we give you two some privacy?”

“Do condoms exist in this universe?” San wonders aloud. 

“You have sucked a cock before right?” Wooyoung asks Hongjoong. 

They all gasp in unison at the sound of a knock on Hongjoong’s timber door. 

Hongjoong doesn’t dive out of his window or slither under his bed like Wooyoung thought he might. With a shaky hand and a scarce breath, Hongjoong turns the janky knob and slowly opens his door to reveal a woman in a tattered apron, three unfamiliar knights, and Prince Seonghwa. 

The prince takes an elegant step through the threshold and immediately looks surprised to see who all is waiting for him inside the room. 

The seamstress who seems to be at a loss for words takes a good solid moment to glower at Wooyoung and San, and then at Hongjoong, before swinging the door shut and waiting outside in the hallway with the royal guards. 

When Hongjoong and Prince Seonghwa’s gazes intersect there are close to actual sparks flying in the stuffy room. 

Hongjoong’s diffidence meets Prince Seonghwa’s dignity in a star-crossed meteor shower and it’s like two tragic worlds colliding. 

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San bow to Prince Seonghwa, who’s donning regal mantle in shades of the lost moon and the sand of a certain hourglass. A singular earring is flowing from his left earlobe, suspending like teardrops made of phantom quartz. 

It’s a very different style for Prince Seonghwa, the opposite of his typical shadowy sovereign attire. He looks like he’s on his way to his wedding. 

“Warmest greetings to you all…,” the prince begins. 

Hongjoong takes a break from losing his damn mind to shamelessly look Prince Seonghwa up and down, then jerking his head to the side with a scowl, heat rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Prince Seonghwa inhales, keeping steady his sight on Hongjoong. “Does this belong to you…?”

In the prince’s open palm lies a sheer ribbon, indeed the one that Hongjoong wore around his neck to the grand ball. 

Hongjoong offers only a bashful nod, peeking up from his feet to acknowledge the prince with hair as dark as ink. 

“My quest is complete, I’ve found you,” Prince Seonghwa says breathlessly. 

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and his posture eases. 

“After you departed, at the ceremony, I went out into the gardens, thinking that you might have ran off there, but the flowers were dipped in nothing but starlight, I searched tirelessly but I simply could not find you, and I’ve been longing to return this to you.”

Hongjoong stares.

“May I?” Prince Seonghwa continues. 

When Hongjoong grants his wordless approval, Prince Seonghwa steps forward. 

With chivalrous fingers, the prince puts the choker on Hongjoong who’s squeezing his eyes shut. The ribbon doesn’t coordinate at all with his vest that’s made out of some sort of corduroy-like material, or his mousy-brown tunic, what with its mismatched buttons.

“It’s beauteous,” Prince Seonghwa suspires in wonderment, drawing his arms back in by his sides. 

Hongjoong seems to have lost his voice. 

“It pairs with your dress, no?” the prince asks him. 

Hongjoong nods, and with a blank face and a slow stride, he steps over towards his wardrobe. He opens it just a crack and pulls out a portion of his poofy gown. 

“Did you make the dress yourself?” Prince Seonghwa further asks. 

Hongjoong nods again. 

“You’re very talented. Could I request a suit made by your hand?”

Hongjoong bows.

“Ah, please, you do not have to act so formally towards me,” Prince Seonghwa insists. 

“Um but you’re royalty,” Wooyoung says.

“We are all around the same age, correct?” Prince Seonghwa proposes to them. “I feel we could talk more comfortably together and be in each other’s company from here on out without any formalities.”

San raises an eyebrow. “But me and Woo are just some mysterious randos who live here now sometimes. And Hong is a feisty little pauper who needs to be put in his place.”

Hongjoong’s jaw collapses to the floor, Prince Seonghwa’s eyes dilate, and Wooyoung contributes a squeaky laugh. 

Reaching over towards his spinning wheel, Hongjoong seizes a long strip of fabric and whips San’s ass with it.

As San whimpers playfully at Hongjoong’s attack, Wooyoung nods in agreement with everything San just said. “ _See?_ ” he tells the prince. 

“H-Hong?” Prince Seonghwa says, his soft gaze darting between the three buffoons before him. 

Hongjoong drops his impromptu weapon. “Ah, I am d-deeply sorry, your majesty, I’m called Kim Hongjoong, it really is an honor to m-meet you here, in my bedroom.”

Wooyoung cringes. San snorts. 

“Kim Hongjoong… Hongjoong…,” Prince Seonghwa pronounces, “…it’s a glorious pleasure to meet you. I’m Seonghwa, son of the royal Park family, and sworn Prince of Crescent Kingdom.”

Hongjoong gulps and does a half-bow, and Prince Seonghwa turns towards their company. 

“Oh hi. I’m Wooyoung and this is San,” Wooyoung says. 

Prince Seonghwa smiles. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Wooyoung and San. I would like to learn how to dance like you do.”

Hongjoong looks like he’s going to explode. 

“Oh! Who’s this?” the prince questions as Hongjoong’s majestic feline comes along and rubs up against his legs. 

“That’s Pan,” Hongjoong says. 

“Oh my goodness, hello, _hello!_ ” Prince Seonghwa coos.

He plops down on Hongjoong’s bed and Pan jumps up and gets situated on his lap. 

Pan is already purring at Prince Seonghwa’s touch, and Wooyoung thinks that Hongjoong isn’t too far off from purring too. The pauper’s expression is caught somewhere between excruciating pain and the look on a person’s face when they first get settled inside of a hot tub. Wooyoung can practically feel the steam emitting off of him. 

With a relaxed sigh, Wooyoung sits down right next to Prince Seonghwa, and very brazenly takes in all of the god-like details of his face up-close.

From where he’s standing frozen stiff in the middle of the room, Hongjoong is positively staring swords at Wooyoung, looking like he wants to take Wooyoung out back and whip him with some fabric scraps too. 

“Oh,” Wooyoung utters, “is this too friendly?” 

“Yes,” San says out of nowhere. 

He’s pouting, and he takes a seat on the other side of Prince Seonghwa, just about snuggling up on him, making all three of their knees bump together. 

Wooyoung wants to make a fuss and start a fight with San because it would be fun and even if these instances make him look like a clown he’s maybe a little bit addicted to how his heart rate spikes whenever San gives him attention. But, just lounging on a bed with two guys and a cat? Pretty cool. Wooyoung can’t really complain. 

As Prince Seonghwa continues to stroke Pan, he glances at Wooyoung on his right, and then at San on his left, and his skin flushes the color of ripe strawberries. 

“It’s frightfully hot in here,” Hongjoong announces. “Pan and I will go outside on a walk now. You all are free to join us, or not, or I could go alone and stay alone forever-”

“I’ll come with you!” Prince Seonghwa says, panicked almost. 

He stands up fast and Pan goes flying off his lap with a yowl. 

“If you wander too far into the forest, it could be dangerous,” Prince Seonghwa says, calmer now. “Legend tells that pirates dwell there, so I shall come with you.”

After the four of them agree that some fresh air would be nice, Prince Seonghwa, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San spill out into the hallway one by one with Pan in tow, where the seamstress and the knights bow at the prince’s return. 

“Is this your son?” Prince Seonghwa asks the seamstress, gesturing towards Hongjoong with a gentle hand. 

“He’s just our seamster boy, your majesty,” the stout woman replies alongside a curtsy. “On days when he doesn’t have an attitude I gladly admit to adopting him.” 

“I intend to accompany this young man, your dear seamster, on a stroll. I will take him into my care for this excursion, if you would be so kind to give me your blessing to do so,” Prince Seonghwa implores of her. 

Hongjoong is peeking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

The seamstress just gawps at the prince for a dumbfounded minute or two, so they all just kind of awkwardly assume that she’s chill with them going out for a walk. 

With Hongjoong leading the way, they stomp down the stairs and through the structure’s foyer. A clique of eavesdropping seamstresses watch their succession, and Wooyoung and San throw peace signs at them as they exit out the front door.

Their group ambles along in the mellow daylight, over the arched bridge and its babbling brook. Hongjoong keeps his choker on and Wooyoung wouldn’t be surprised if he never takes it off ever again. 

The trio of faceless knights trail behind Wooyoung, San, Hongjoong, and Prince Seonghwa as they reach the trees that are currently quiet; there is only the chirruping of birds and the crunch of the earth below their footsteps. Pan shifts into his pudgy dragon form and he snorts little spurts of fire, which proves to be an exciting thing to behold even for the people who come from this realm. 

Soon enough, Hongjoong lets out a dry cough, and glances up and over at the ethereal being standing by his side. 

“Um… Prince S-Seonghwa… am I to be punished for my attendance at the grand ball…? I’m terribly sorry for breaking the rules-”

“Good gracious no, never,” Prince Seonghwa gushes. “There will be no such thing and there are no such apologies necessary.”

“But I’m… a boy, and I’m poor,” Hongjoong says.

Prince Seonghwa’s brow is knit in a feverish compassion. “Your riches do not reflect who you are as an individual, look at everything you’ve contributed to the kingdom! You have skilled hands and a strong heart, your hard work and diligence is admirable. What are riches, anyhow? Just numbers, essentially? A number attached to your name. Numbers could never _begin_ to define a person’s worthiness.” 

Hongjoong blinks. “…I’m a boy,” he repeats.

Prince Seonghwa stares at him, his cheeks a slight pink. 

“What about it?” the prince replies softly. 

Hongjoong’s eyes are a set of rounded saucers. 

“Amen to that,” San comments under his breath.

Wooyoung elbows him.

“Why did you want to attend the grand ball? It’s rather boring,” Prince Seonghwa says while he shuffles in place and looks down at the forest floor.

Wooyoung is a bit irked at hearing this because it sure as hell wasn’t boring once he and San arrived and taught everyone how to shake some ass. 

“…It was for a reason that I keep safe in my heart, y-your highness… perhaps I could tell you someday,” is Hongjoong’s answer. 

Subsequent to his murmur, the unanticipated clatter of armor catches everybody’s attention, and they see Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho nearby, now traversing through the thicket in their direction.

“Hongjoong!” the two of them bellow. 

Hongjoong’s smile lights up the entire woodlands, which leads Wooyoung to believe that Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi must’ve spent more time together in the week here following the grand ball. Maybe they were able to console Hongjoong in his heartbreak. Wooyoung feels some of his guilt lift at that thought. 

Mingi and Yunho bow to Prince Seonghwa, and they greet Wooyoung and San as well. In accordance with the prince, they let the other knights off duty, and then they strike up a conversation with Hongjoong. 

“Prince Hwa you’re staring at Hongjoong as if you’ve never seen a person before,” Wooyoung says, hushed enough for just himself and Prince Seonghwa to hear. 

“…Oh gracious, that’s rather impolite of me, isn’t it,” the prince responds, his voice faraway. 

“No, it’s just- I _know_ ,” Wooyoung says with a wink. 

Prince Seonghwa does not speak. 

“I’m kinda an expert on these things,” Wooyoung lies. “Here, watch this.”

“Hey Hong, do you have a favorite tree around here or something,” Wooyoung asks, interrupting the two gentle giants and their toadstool of a friend. 

“Why yes I do!” Hongjoong responds.

Hongjoong guides their squad five or so minutes further into the woods, where a clearing exists. In the center lives a tremendous willow tree, weeping in hues of blue, and encircled in more of those confetti-like speckles of gold that Wooyoung and San sprinted through earlier. 

Without a word, Hongjoong begins climbing the tree. 

“Prince Hwa, don’t just stand there, look at how small and clumsy he is! Go assist him,” Wooyoung says.

At once, Prince Seonghwa hastens up to the trunk of the phosphoresce tree, and with his head craned back he watches Hongjoong scurry onto a bough. 

“P-Please be careful, Hongjoong!” Prince Seonghwa shouts, as if Hongjoong is all the way up in the clouds and won’t be able to hear him. 

Hongjoong straddles a limb of the tree, his cut-off trousers bunching up and exposing his knees as he does. He dangles his legs and waves down at everyone. 

A breeze blows by and Hongjoong holds onto his hat. He all but loses his balance, gripping back onto the branch between his legs in the nick of time. 

“Oh fuck!” Hongjoong squeaks. 

“Hongjoong, are you quite alright? Also, what is a ‘fuck’?” Prince Seonghwa calls out. 

“It’s a sentence enhancer…,” Hongjoong mumbles after much hesitation. “…And it also means s-something that… something that’s a secret….” 

“Oh my, will you tell me someday…?” the prince asks in intrigue. 

There’s a very long pause before Hongjoong’s sheepish reply flutters alongside the leaves. 

“…Yes, your royal highness.” 

San’s laughter is incredulous and so powerful to the point where no sound is coming out and he’s clinging onto Wooyoung and almost knocking the both of them over. He’s enjoying this far too much. 

Mingi and Yunho are wearing looks of confusion, so Wooyoung and San signal for them to come closer, and Wooyoung whispers in Yunho’s ear, and San in Mingi’s. Yunho is shocked, Mingi is chill with it and looks like he’s locking this information away for later.

Now climbing down the tree like a feral cat, Hongjoong peers over his shoulder as he makes his descent. Prince Seonghwa reaches up and holds onto Hongjoong’s narrow hips and helps his feet find the ground. 

After he plops down, Hongjoong dusts off his pants and turns around and although Prince Seonghwa withdrew his hands from Hongjoong’s body as though he had touched the sun itself, he hasn’t budged at all and he’s more or less pinning Hongjoong up against the tree trunk. 

“Oh wow,” San breathes out, and Wooyoung slaps a hand over San’s mouth before he can possibly ruin the moment. San licks Wooyoung’s palm and Wooyoung removes it with a hiss. 

There is hardly any space between the prince and the pauper. 

“…Are you… are you alright, Hongjoong?” Prince Seonghwa says, quiet. 

Doe-eyed, Hongjoong nods. 

“I would be frightened if you were to injure yourself,” Prince Seonghwa murmurs to Hongjoong, with all the sincerity in the universe. 

And with the most tender of gazes, Prince Seonghwa scans Hongjoong’s face, and he refrains from cupping Hongjoong’s cheeks in the palms of his hands even though this would be the perfect opportunity for it.

Hongjoong is motionless aside from his chest swaying under reign of his lungs, and with his chin tilted up towards a star, his expression melts to mirror the prince’s.

Wooyoung is thinking about how wild it would be if Hongjoong were to suddenly pounce at the prince. This story is turning out to be pretty entertaining. 

“So, your majesty, where’s Prince Yeo?” Mingi asks, his voice breaking through the intense quietude. 

“Ah,” Prince Seonghwa speaks, taking a startled step away from Hongjoong as he clears his throat, “m-moping around in the palace as per usual.”

“He told me himself that it’s acceptable to call him that,” Mingi whispers to Yunho, who just scolded him for mentioning Prince Yeosang in such casual terms. 

Yunho looks skywards to express his concern. “The only thing that appears to bring Prince Yeosang happiness these days is Jongho’s sonnets. I fear that he is ill in the heart, or in the mind.” 

“Speaking of Prince Yeosang,” Prince Seonghwa says, unphased, “I am afraid that it is near time for me to return to the castle for this evening’s meal with our governing families.” 

“Ah, yes, it's near time for me to help the seamstresses with dinner as well,” Hongjoong pipes up. 

“Oh my, you cook?” Prince Seonghwa asks him. 

“I try my best to,” Hongjoong replies. “I can make babbleroot stew.”

The prince smiles. “That sounds like a charming dish.”

“It tastes good,” Hongjoong says, head empty. He’s blushing like mad and he may or may not be focused on the rosy cushions that are Prince Seonghwa’s lips. 

Prince Seonghwa’s smile drops away as he returns Hongjoong’s gaze. “…I’m certain it must,” he agrees, equal parts gentle and intent. 

Wooyoung, San, Mingi, and Yunho all trade amused glances. 

Hongjoong is tottering to and fro with his arms clasped behind his back, looking like he needs to pee. “It was nice to meet you,” he says to the prince, his vocals featherweight.

“It was inspiring to meet you, Hongjoong. I am so glad I found you,” Prince Seonghwa says in earnest. 

Hongjoong bobs his head. 

“…We will meet again soon, I hope?” Prince Seonghwa questions, and it’s the most shy he has sounded all afternoon. 

“It would be an honor,” Hongjoong croaks. 

He bows to the prince and waves goodbye to everybody else and he takes a few dozy steps backwards before he turns around and runs out of the forest, with butterflies at his heels and his dragon by his side. 

Wooyoung has one too many comments about the goofy-ass smile on Prince Seonghwa’s face right now as he’s watching Hongjoong’s departure. The prince is biting down on his bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

“You look like you just discovered some things about yourself,” Wooyoung says to him.

“What- what ever is that supposed to imply?” Prince Seonghwa splutters. 

“Anyways,” San cuts in, “Woo and I wanna visit the library, can we come to the castle with you?”

Wooyoung gasps. “No we d-”

“The library? It’s such a snoozing old place. Are you sure?” Prince Seonghwa frowns. “I don’t even recall ever having been in the library….” 

“We have a library?” Yunho says. 

“Yeah we do,” Mingi utters, “gives me shivers just walking past it….”

The four of them head off and it’s seriously tripping Wooyoung out because it only takes them mere minutes to reach the recognizable courtyard swarming with townspeople, despite the fact that Hongjoong’s neck of the woods didn’t appear to be anywhere close to the castle. And yet, the castle is right there, plain as day, as if Jongho were here to snap his fingers and magic them straight to the palace’s front doors. 

“San _please_ we haven’t even gotten to ride a dragon yet,” Wooyoung whines above the noise of the loyal subjects who are bowing and greeting Prince Seonghwa as they proceed through the courtyard. 

Wooyoung is also somewhat disappointed that he didn’t get the chance to explain to Hongjoong that the prince is totally whipped for him. He’s feeling discontent, but there’s always next time. 

San huffs. “Woo don’t be reckless, I don’t know what would happen to you if you got hurt here….”

“Oh… you care about me like that?” Wooyoung asks, and he pokes a finger onto his own cheek and bats his eyelashes. 

“Let’s make a deal,” San says, completely ignoring him, “every time we come here, we only stay until the big twirly hand on that clocktower is facing down.” 

Wooyoung traces his eyes to where San is pointing, and lo and behold, at the base of a building’s spire is an analog clock with just about ten different hands of various formations and lengths, something that Wooyoung has been trying to locate in Crescent ever since their first visit. 

“Oh what the _fuck?_ ” Wooyoung gripes. 

“You hadn’t noticed it?” San asks. 

“No,” Wooyoung says. 

San looks up and over at the unconventional clock once more, and then back at Wooyoung by his side. “Okay, well that’s our time limit, okay?”

“I guess? Can we be somewhat flexible if, like, something cool is going on?” Wooyoung says. 

“I guess?” San responds, mimicking Wooyoung’s tone. He smirks before facing forward again.

Prince Seonghwa makes his job look easy with the way he glides along and showers people in his charisma. Wooyoung takes down a mental note to someday teach both princes how to do finger hearts.

After they’re up the tiresome staircase and inside the shade of the splendid fortress, they walk in a comfortable silence, the passageways are nothing more than an enchanted echo. Wooyoung wonders why the castle is so big, when it’s so ghostly during ordinary times of day. He thinks about Hongjoong and all of his adopted family crammed into that cottage. He wonders if he and San will ever get to meet the King. 

Wooyoung thinks about the dampened piles of autumn leaves all around university, and trudging to his lessons with his heavy bookbag and his group of ex-friends. Their names still bounce around in his head all the time. It’s weird to think that several people’s lives are better now without him. Wooyoung’s heart still hurts but he won’t admit it to anyone. 

“What do you think would happen to you if you visited the library,” San blurts without warning.

He’s stopped in his tracks, and he’s looking at the prince and his knights; the three of them holding still in an identical blankness. 

“…We would read books, of course,” Yunho says.

“Right- right… of course…,” San trails off. 

None of them offer any further thoughts, and Prince Seonghwa is now acting as though he’ll be disowned and beheaded if he’s late for dinner, so they all bid each other farewell, and Wooyoung and San continue down the spectral halls in search of the domed chamber overlooking the kingdom. 

They find their way, in spite of the corridor leading to the library being as nondescript as possible. There’s nothing that separates these doors from any others in the palace as far as Wooyoung can tell. They step inside and Wooyoung sees books and books and books and alabaster and the hourglass over on the stump in the window. The entire timepiece looks as black as midnight for some reason, and it startles Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung feels grumpy, because everything is fading away faster again, like last time, but unlike the first time when they actually were able to take a proper look around the place. The images before him are merging with a sketch of the library in Beauty and the Beast; San wanted the library to be as staggering as a fairytale come to life, and he got his wish. 

“…There’s something they… there’s something they…,” Wooyoung garbles, his body feeling detached. 

“…Mhm…,” San hums, “…there’s something they don’t want us to…”

  
  


_See._

  
  


Wooyoung completes San’s sentence in his mind. 

Whoever ‘they’ might be. 

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It would be pretty cool if they could fit a mattress up the Choi library’s spiral staircase and through the attic’s secret little pull-down hatch because the creaky floorboards hurt like shit to wake up disoriented on. Their torch is overturned, and Wooyoung watches the dancing dust that’s caught in the horizontal beam like a headlight. 

Both he and San are flat on their backs in a daze, back home at their library. The record player is unmoving and mute. Wooyoung’s ears prick up at the sound of San moaning as he regains his consciousness. 

They finally got to meet the other prince. Wooyoung doesn’t reach for his phone. 

“Damn… you-know-who… _wealthy_ you-know-who is a likeable guy…,” he drawls.

He’s surprised that the magic let him say that much. 

San rolls his sleepy eyes. “Not-wealthy you-know-who will fight you if you try anything with wealthy you-know-who.”

Wooyoung maintains a poker face. 

“Yeah. Not-wealthy you-know-who will fight you just as hard if _you_ try anything,” he tells San.

San’s pretty brow furrows at this. “Why would I try anything? He’s not _r-e-a-l._ ”

“You were touching him like he is,” Wooyoung counters. 

San stares at Wooyoung open-mouthed. 

“Well he _is_ solid, it’s not like he’s a hologram or-”

“You like ‘em solid?” Wooyoung says. 

“Wooyoung… I don’t wanna play these games…,” San pouts, and he actually sounds a bit shaken. 

He sits up, brings his knees in to his body, and wraps his arms around himself. His fake glasses are resting on the tip of his nose. There is a light rain on the roof. 

“Oh,” Wooyoung says stupidly. 

  
  


_“What- what ever is that supposed to imply?”_

  
  


Prince Seonghwa’s voice is a ringing in Wooyoung’s ear. 

“I have an exam to study for,” San mutters as he hauls himself up to stand. 

  
  


_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

  
  


Wooyoung doesn’t have an elucidation for this sensation, doesn’t know how to reach for any more second chances. Reality is beginning to feel like some sort of a strange dream. 

  
  


_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_Do you want to come over and study together?_

_Do you want to come over and meet my Halmeoni. I could cook us dinner, I could play you a song on the piano. I could play you as many songs as you want_ ….

  
  


“Do you-” Wooyoung starts, but his breath gets stuck in the wavelets of his heartbeat, because San is standing in the arctic, in the sepia portal at the attic mouth, his cardigan shrugged off his shoulders and his torso twisted, peering back at Wooyoung like a thousand second chances. And he looks beautiful. 

San sniffles, just once. “Do I what?”

“I should go home…,” San says when Wooyoung remains tongue-tied. 

Wooyoung stands up swiftly, he feels lightheaded. “Yeah- h-home….”

“Wait- where’s the book?” Wooyoung falters, and he bends back down in a sudden worry and feels around on the floor. “Oh my god, oh my god where’s the-”

“It’s behind you, Wooyoung,” San says quietly. 

And it is, it’s resting behind the heels of Wooyoung’s loafers, with its pages as empty as the palace halls. Something dreadful and beyond Wooyoung’s control decides against him ever taking it out of the library, and he leaves it camouflaged in the dark.

  
  


Wooyoung hasn’t been able to remember his dreams for the longest stretch of time, but tonight, he dreams of a ship on crystal waters. 

And on that vessel, he meets someone with blonde hair. He can’t tell if it’s San or Prince Yeosang, but from his third-person point of view, he sees that both himself and his companion are wearing crowns as white as snow. And they embrace in reunion near the captain’s cabin, while the sails quiver and the ocean sings beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo is dedicated to the slow burn I guess 😩
> 
> so I keep thinking about wanting to write a scene where hongjoong has to take prince hwa’s measurements in preparation for making him that suit that he kinda requested??? lmao bonus chapter content??? 😭
> 
> jongho and prince yeo will be back next time!! + enter stage left @ ✨princess minki✨
> 
> thank you guys so much for reading!!!! 🥺💖 you’re so supportive and I value hearing your thoughts SO MUCH I love this family 😭💕😭💕
> 
> and wow we’re halfway through!! it’s looking like the chapters for the 2nd half of the story will be longer so they might take me longer to complete but I hope that it’ll be worth the wait 💖💖💖💖
> 
> see u next time!!! 🥰
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	5. The Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW / TW in this chapter:  
> a spicy moment happens 🥵  
> it isn’t SMUT smut but here’s a heads-up for the ✨moment✨ after the 3rd page break! ❤️
> 
> there’s mention of an infirmary after the 1st & 2nd page breaks
> 
> and heads-up for brief mention of an injury towards the very end, too

Two weeks and two more grand balls later, Wooyoung and San carry on with tiptoeing up into the misty library attic, to glide into the realm of singing trees and forsaken fortress hallways. 

In accordance with a certain prince, Hongjoong is now a resident invitee at the elite gatherings. He has sewn for himself nice pairs of trousers to wear to the grand balls, and attached to them are half-skirts with perfectly pressed pleats. The seamster really does have a heart for what he does, and there are truly some nights where he looks as if he could pass for royalty. 

Amid the regularly-scheduled dreamscape music produced by the live orchestra, Wooyoung and San do play more K-pop with the aid of Jongho’s amplification spell on Wooyoung’s phone, and it’s just as much of a hit as it was the first time. The princes still don’t join in though; they watch on, peer down at the marbled floors, or converse with each other, appearing both intimidating yet delicate together. 

“I could teach you how to dance, if you want!”

The princes don’t join in _entirely_ , but San did offer to instruct Prince Seonghwa, after remembering how he had expressed his interest in the modern ways of dance that day in Hongjoong’s room. San and Prince Seonghwa have become fast friends due to these brief lessons, they giggle with one another in the ballroom while maiden’s gossip spreads like wildfire, and while Wooyoung and Hongjoong sulk and bicker amongst themselves.

Prince Seonghwa is more of a pussy than Wooyoung thought; he hasn’t asked Hongjoong to dance yet. If it doesn’t happen soon Wooyoung is going to have to recruit the others to help him bully the silver-crowned prince into asking the pauper for a waltz. Those two have been cold-footed, acting as though their star-destined first time meeting never even happened. 

Or maybe Prince Seonghwa would listen to San if San were to encourage him. Because Prince Seonghwa and San are _close_ close, they gravitate towards each other in character with a honey bee and a wildflower. Prince Seonghwa seems comfortable around San, in a way that’s different than anyone else he interacts with. Wooyoung feels just a tad forgotten when it’s the three of them. Maybe it’s just all in his head, but San makes eye contact with Prince Seonghwa more than he does with Wooyoung. None of it bothers Wooyoung too much, until he remembers that, apparently, San doesn’t even think that Prince Seonghwa is a real person.

It hasn’t quite worked out with them leaving Crescent Kingdom when the hand in the shape of a corkscrew on the clocktower is pointing downwards, because the story picks up at various times of day every time they arrive. Wooyoung doesn’t even know what type of a building the structure with the clocktower is. It’s just there in the grand courtyard, and it vaguely resembles a church, with its steeple. 

The sorcery simply will not let Wooyoung and San further explore the castle’s library. Wooyoung wishes so badly that they could redo that very first visit, he wishes that they would’ve taken a closer look around before they approached the tranquilizing hourglass; the hourglass that has looked so blackened and baleful these days when Wooyoung catches his vanishing glimpse of it.

In other news, Wooyoung is upset because he’s so much more aware of and preoccupied with how San… exists. How San distributes his serotonin amongst everybody else versus how inquisitive he is with Wooyoung. San’s default reaction to things is to raise his eyebrows, blink, and hold a poker face. Sometimes he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut and smiles when he complains. San’s humor is either dry as hell or silly and filled with helium like a bubblegum-pink balloon. 

Wooyoung has started a thing where, every day, he tells San that he looks good. He’ll compliment San on his style or his hair or something. San never responds or compliments Wooyoung back, at least not yet, and it’s the most infuriating and vitalizing one-on-one game, Wooyoung is addicted. 

They also kind of smack each other’s asses now. 

Like how bros do. 

Wooyoung can’t remember how it started or who did it first, but they range anywhere from shut-the-fuck-up-you’re-being-obnoxious-and-you’re-scaring-the-fairytale-people slaps on the ass, to little ass pats of encouragement. Because friends encourage each other. 

Today, Wooyoung and San made it to Crescent just in time for a crisp morning spent in an open field on the far side of the castle. 

Preparations for a jousting tournament are taking place out on the grounds. Jongho is reciting sonnets for the crowds that have already arrived and are waiting in the stands for the event to begin. His beautiful vibrato is resonating, flags of gold and silver are flapping in the celebratory wind. 

Wooyoung is thinking about the reading from the vinyl record that stupefied him and San prior to their arrival. 

  
  


_“This is the tale of the Slumbering Princess._

_When sacrifice unearths a treasure_

_When dependency brings you to tears_

_When Answer calls in the mould of Love’s True Kiss_ …. _”_

  
  


Hongjoong is here at the joust, clothed in a dark teal tunic. He has a loose braid sticking out of the side of his head, a result of San playing with his hair before being swatted away. 

As per a request, Hongjoong recently made some repairs to Yunho’s armor, and he’s now assisting Yunho in suiting up for the tournament. 

In awe, Yunho has been gazing down at Hongjoong and praising him for his craftsmanship, and it’s like this is the first time the knight has ever seen a knight’s gauntlet. 

“Hongjoong has worked hard lately, do you really need him to help you put that on?” Mingi says, seemingly distracted by the fact that one of Yunho’s hands is the size of both of Hongjoong’s hands combined. “I could help,” he tacks on at the end. 

“He knows what he’s doing,” Yunho responds in his usual good-natured way. 

“I guess,” Mingi grumbles. 

Unspeaking, Hongjoong flits his eyes up to Mingi, and then back down at Yunho’s wrist.

“You look nice today Sannie,” Wooyoung says to San while they’re just standing there near the striped contender’s tents. 

Tucked into a dapper pair of russet trousers, San has on an oversized argyle sweater, with its pattern the colors of pebbles and naval-blue. The sleeves graze past his knuckles when he doesn’t have them rolled up to his elbows like he does now. Wooyoung wants to touch San’s forearms for no reason at all. 

And Wooyoung really wants to stumble upon a veiled pigeonhole in the Choi library that opens up only for them and a set of magic words, and he wants to curl up in an old upholstered loveseat with a mug of black coffee while sundown weeps in a downpouring sky and while San nuzzles into him and whisper-reads a dark fairytale that’ll end up keeping Wooyoung awake at night and then Wooyoung will have no choice but to text San into the earliest hours of morning after they part ways.

But Wooyoung won’t be admitting that to anybody anytime soon. 

San says nothing to Wooyoung’s flattery, and runs his tongue across his teeth while he scans Wooyoung’s face. 

Wooyoung starts waving his hands in front of San’s eyes as if he’s trying to hypnotize him.

“Wooyoung… what the hell are you doing,” San murmurs, a smirk nearly breaking through.

“Oooh you wanna hold my hand so badly,” Wooyoung warbles. 

San pats Wooyoung’s ass and actually lingers there for a notable nanosecond, but he doesn’t follow up by reaching out to hold Wooyoung’s hand. 

Wooyoung squints, and then shrugs. Guess he can’t have it all. But he’ll still count his blessings. 

Not a single bedazzled soul from the royal families is present out in the fields at this current moment, just the village folk and the dozen or so knights. 

But contact with the sovereign comes promptly their way when a plump owl-like creature flies from over the castle’s highest turrets, descends with a wild squawk, and lands on Yunho’s shoulder with a yellowed envelope in its beak. 

“A letter from the King?” Yunho says with a frown as he tears open the delivery immediately. 

Mingi scoots closer to Yunho and they read the contents together in a stillness, and Wooyoung presses himself into Yunho’s other side and cranes his neck to take a peek. 

Wooyoung has been wondering why the King is never in attendance at the grand balls, and why they haven’t yet seen him in passing at least. Every time Wooyoung asks, his new friends merely tell him that the King is currently away. They also have yet to explain why they only ever refer to one King, when there are two reigning families. 

The script on the parchment isn’t expected; it almost looks like the work of a typewriter. 

  
  


_My dearest, most trusted and excelled Knights,_

_Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho,_

_There exists in the Kingdom an artifact that is rumored to be cursed._

_It dwells now in the Murky Greenwoods._

_Scarce information is known of it, alas, it is imperative that we learn of its intentions._

_I am sending you off on an investigation, forthwith._

_Please bring Choi Jongho along with you on this quest._

_If the artifact poses a fatal threat of any kind, please encourage Choi Jongho to destroy it with his abilities._

_Please bring with you a horse and plenty of water._

_I thank you for your gallantry. Crescent awaits your return and your findings from this expedition._

  
  


“Choi…,” Wooyoung mumbles, his brow creased. “ _Choi_ Jongho…?” 

It’s not an uncommon surname, but still. Wooyoung looks to San to gauge his reaction, but San isn’t carrying himself in a way that indicates any sort of epiphanies in regards to the magic-wielding sonneteer. Which makes sense. Because these are just fictional characters. 

Mingi and Yunho actually look pensive for once. 

“Can we come with you?” San asks them. 

“…Who hears the words ‘cursed artifact’ and thinks to themself ‘I want to go to that’?” Mingi responds in a flat tone. 

“The King always makes sure to mention precisely how many fellow knights we’re allowed to bring with us, and if any additional persons are allowed on the mission…,” Yunho adds. “He did not say that anyone else is permitted, apart from Jongho, so I do not think that you should come.”

“Aw come on, please? We’ll play music from my phone along the way,” Wooyoung says, sticking out his bottom lip. 

“They can come,” Mingi says with a sudden change of heart. He smiles at an unamused Yunho, and then gives Wooyoung and San a thumbs up. 

“Can I join the expedition, too?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Of course you can, little one!” Wooyoung chirps, which only results in Hongjoong chasing him around in a circle and tackling him to the ground. 

“Hello, I sensed that I was being spoken about,” Jongho says from out of the blue, no longer entertaining the clamoring spectators over in the arena. 

“Oh my god, you can sense it every time someone talks about you?” San asks him. 

Jongho smiles and nods. “Yes.”

“Do you know when Prince Yeosang talks about you?” Wooyoung questions with a grin. He’s short of breath, now lying shoulder to shoulder in the grass alongside Hongjoong. 

This is the first time Jongho has ever appeared caught off guard. 

“I-”

He takes a moment to clear his throat and fiddle with his cufflinks.

“Prince Yeosang does not mention me, or speak of me… but I hope that he may have had even scant of a thought pertaining to me at some season in life, and I pray it be a favorable thought.” 

“My dude you don’t even need to pray about that,” Wooyoung says, remembering the way Prince Yeosang had gazed down at Jongho’s performance from up in his tower. “Trust me you’re good.”

Before the invisible sun rises any higher in the sky, Yunho and Mingi hustle around the tents to let the other knights know about their urgent departure, and soon enough, the two of them are leading Jongho, Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung out to the Murky Greenwoods, following their stop by the royal stables for a horse and supplies. 

While they’re making their way through the gusty grasslands and closer to the trees, Wooyoung is attempting to form some sort of a map inside of his head, regardless of accuracy. But it seems to him that if the palace is the central point, then its entrance and the courtyard with the clocktower is just south of it, the forest that he and San always materialize in is west of it, Hongjoong’s village is somewhere southwest, the jousting arena is east, and their arcane destination for today is north. 

“I like the parts of the song where the singer makes their voice very fast,” Mingi comments as the six of them are plowing along, vibing to the K-pop playing from Wooyoung’s downloaded music. 

“Me as well!” Hongjoong chips in. 

“Oh! It’s called rapping,” Wooyoung says, “it’s so damn cool, right?” 

“So damn cool,” Mingi and Hongjoong repeat in simultaneous agreement. 

This maybe-northern forest is sticky. 

Although shaded, it’s humid and tangled in vines. It’s swampy, almost more so like a jungle, and now that they’re in the thick of it Wooyoung is trying not to look at the beads of sweat on San’s neck for more than ten seconds at a time. 

Wooyoung is wearing a button-down shirt underneath his cashmere sweater, so he removes the top layer and ties it around his waist. 

They’ve been traipsing through the mud for quite a while now, the poor palomino stallion struggling along with them, and there’s honestly no cryptic items in sight. 

That is, until the horse starts making a sudden fuss, and a fragrance stronger than rose petals hits them full force and brings them all to a standstill. 

It isn’t at all a bad scent, but it’s clear that the stallion is perturbed by something in the area. Yunho adjusts his grip on the reins as he scopes the giant shadowy cypress-like trees, and his eyes catch on something to their left. 

Wooyoung turns their music off.

“It’s a… spinning wheel?” Yunho utters. 

At the base of a boggy tree lies exactly that; a wooden spinning wheel without much character, no different than the one that Hongjoong owns.

The forest is now a spine-chilling silence enclosing them, save for the sound of frogs.

And it’s so peculiar… to Wooyoung, the spinning wheel looks copy and pasted, it looks real with one blink, and far-off and illusionary with another. 

Sucking in a breath, Hongjoong takes a waterlogged step forward. “I know how they operate, I could give it a look over-”

“No!” Mingi shouts, shielding Hongjoong with his arm. “Please, Hong, do not endanger yourself. I will investigate.”

“Sir Mingi, please take caution…,” Jongho pleads, “…I can say with near certainty that there is an evil residing in these wetlands.”

All of them look at Jongho in alarm, except for Mingi, who is approaching the stray object ever so slowly, unblinking. 

“Sir Mingi can you still hear my voice…,” Jongho questions gravely.

Yunho appears fearful, and he and Hongjoong are now having difficulties keeping the stallion from running off. “…M-Mingi…?”

Entranced and unresponsive, Mingi stops at the starboard of the spinning wheel. He outstretches his fingers towards the tip of the spindle, and collapses into the swamp water. 

“ _Mingi!_ ” Yunho cries out. 

Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong exchange looks of apprehension. 

Like an arrow from a bow, Jongho casts a spell, his tailcoat fluttering in the flurry, and for one or two seconds, everything sounds like they’re underwater. 

When Wooyoung’s hearing resurfaces and Yunho’s cries echo through the trees once more, the entire spinning wheel turns black, _stark_ black, polluted, just like the hourglass in the library has become, just like the darkness in the flowerbed beneath all of Wooyoung’s worst terrors. The wooden machine is absolutely doused in doom, an overspun oil spill, Wooyoung is startled by the gasp that flies out of his own rib cage. Is anyone else seeing this? Seeing how dreadful this darkness is…? Is anyone else seeing this….

Wooyoung reaches and fumbles for the person beside him and San’s hand is already halfway there to meet him. 

Jongho’s incantation has now transformed the spinning wheel into a needle the size of a finger. In midair, this needle falls to the flooded ground with a thin splash. Bending down, Jongho fishes for it and he snaps it in half. 

Yunho and Hongjoong are kneeling by Mingi, who’s unconscious and soaked in swamp water, while Wooyoung and San do their best to keep the horse steady. 

“Jongho- p-please, he- he isn’t waking, is there something you can do?” Yunho begs. 

Jongho remains standing, peering down at Mingi, and then at Yunho, with an apology in his eyes. 

“He has a pulse…,” Jongho says without needing to check, “…he’s sleeping….” 

With all of their disquieted efforts combined, they haul Mingi up onto the horse’s saddle, and they leave for where the air is clearer. 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

There is a plant in the region dubbed the ‘Briar Rose’, known to contain magical properties of a vigorous kind, and Jongho believes that, if found, it could be a possible antidote for Mingi’s unfortunate condition. 

So, after returning to civilization and delivering Mingi to the castle’s infirmary, their group cleans up and meets with the princes to embark on an immediate quest in hopes to save the knight. 

The seven of them are gathered at the edge of the woods. The princes are standing next to each other, and the both of them are sporting matching uniforms that look a lot like fancy safari outfits. 

Hongjoong has his arms crossed and his hip popped out and he’s standing as far away from Prince Seonghwa as possible.

Jongho is rubbing gentle circles on a stressed Yunho’s back. The knight has been striving to hold back tears all day, Wooyoung can tell; he’s familiar with what the feeling looks like. And Jongho seems to be shouldering a bit of guilt as well. Wooyoung wonders if Jongho feels pressure sometimes because of his wizardry. It’s clear that these abilities of his are limited, and owning power doesn’t mean that he can fix everything, or prevent anything either. 

Wooyoung is munching on a fruit that’s kind of a cross between a pomegranate and peach, but sadly it’s rather flavorless. 

“Okay people listen up,” Wooyoung garbles as he’s chewing. 

He feels San’s hand on the small of his back, and then San’s thumb, as San is wiping away the juice on the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth.

Wooyoung swallows his bite and stares at San. 

Flustered by his own actions, San pulls away and looks downwards, then pushing his glasses up the flawless bridge of his nose.

“The plant is likely to grow in a drier terrain, so there is no need to travel back to the Murky Greenwoods,” Jongho tells everyone. “However, since we have not yet heard back from the King, we should desist from wandering too far into the forest without his orders.” 

“Where’d Pan run off to?” Hongjoong says as he swivels around in search for his shapeshifting pet. 

“He’s in the shrubberies, tending to his business,” Prince Seonghwa answers. 

In acknowledgement to this, Hongjoong just eyeballs the prince from across the way. 

Prince Seonghwa wets his lips and inhales before continuing. “Or should I say… he’s taking a shit.”

“Did I say it correctly?” Prince Seonghwa asks Wooyoung and San, and he’s excited when they applaud him. 

As they’ve come to spend more time together, Wooyoung and San have been teaching their storybook friends some more things. They’ve even let a few of them play around with their cell phones, even though hardly anything on them functions in this world. 

While Yunho and Jongho are weighing some of the routes for their exploration, one of Hongjoong’s sapphire butterflies flitters over to Prince Yeosang, and lands on his chest. 

Composed, Prince Yeosang coaxes the butterfly onto his pointer finger, and carefully transfers it onto Prince Seonghwa’s shoulder. Spooked, Prince Seonghwa unleashes a squeal and flails around like a windmill. Prince Yeosang chuckles. 

When Hongjoong sees Prince Yeosang’s ease, he joins in, laughing airily at Prince Seonghwa, and bashfully rocking in place. 

Prince Yeosang sticks his tongue out at Prince Seonghwa after the pestered butterfly flies off, and Hongjoong decides to copy this too, scrunching his nose up and poking out his tongue. Prince Seonghwa’s cheeks turn the color of cinnamon candy. 

“I beg your pardon…?” he says to Prince Yeosang and Hongjoong. 

“It’s a fun-loving gesture that San and Woo taught us,” Prince Yeosang clarifies. 

“Oh, I see,” Prince Seonghwa replies. 

At this, Wooyoung yanks Prince Seonghwa’s arm and pulls him a few steps over. 

Wooyoung peeks over at Hongjoong as he whispers. “Hey, okay so I didn’t tell them this part… but in some _rare_ cases… that gesture can be considered as flirting.”

“Flirting?” Prince Seonghwa questions. 

“Yeah, with your crush,” Wooyoung says. 

Prince Seonghwa keeps his mouth ajar. “My crush?”

“A crush is the person who you want to kiss,” Wooyoung explains. 

“Oh good heavens!” Prince Seonghwa wheezes, clutching his heart. 

“Prince Hwa you’re not playing hard-to-get,” Wooyoung whines. “You need to ignore him more, and do subtle things, like, smirk at him for no reason at all, but then look away and run your fingers through your hair and pant a little bit like you’ve been lost in the desert for a while. Give him the occasional wink, hell if you’re feeling ballsy touch your collarbones absentmindedly and lick your lips a few times. And, well, you don’t have a phone, but in the real world where you’d have a phone, when you miss his call, you _don’t_ call him back right away. Wait at least twenty minutes before calling him back, keep things loose, keep him hungry.” 

Prince Seonghwa is nodding at Wooyoung with fervor even though he doesn’t understand what the hell is going on. 

Turning towards his lighthearted bullies, Prince Seonghwa locks eyes with Hongjoong, and then he bleps. 

Hongjoong is blushing at him, and frowning. 

Their group finally sets out to go skim the forest for the Briar Rose, and Jongho is able to perform an enhancement charm on Pan’s sense of smell, so that he’ll be able to help them by sniffing out any distinctive scents belonging to rare species of plants. Pan stays in his agile cat form and Hongjoong sends him off ahead. 

They hike below the awnings of trees, the bark and boughs singing a sweet and savory tune in the backcloth of their light conversing. 

“I have never asked, how do you two know each other?” Jongho brings up, directing his question towards Wooyoung and San. 

Neither of them seem to have a quick answer for this. 

“Wooyoung is my bestie, right?” San says after a beat, and his dimples are close enough to kiss and he nudges into Wooyoung like some sort of a cute-ass whimsical little sprite that would sit at the throne of this forest and sleep in piles of dandelion fluff. 

Hearing this is like a kick in the stomach but the best kind of kick in the stomach and Wooyoung catches his heart with sweaty palms before it leaps up his throat and out of his body. 

He can’t remember the last time he had someone to call a best friend. Probably that shy kid with the bandage on his cheekbone from elementary school….

“Ew, gay people,” Prince Yeosang says. 

Wooyoung and San gawk at him. Jongho, Hongjoong, and Prince Seonghwa raise their eyebrows in curiosity. Yunho looks spaced out. 

Wooyoung’s stride trails off, and he comes to a terse stop.

“Where did you learn that,” he utters, his voice just above a whisper. 

“It was in your phone, Wooyoung,” Prince Yeosang replies, “in a string of messages that appeared to be between yourself and a group of companions from a place called University.”

“What’s a gay person?” Hongjoong asks.

At this, San sputters, and proceeds to bust his lungs and it’s loud but it’s meek. It’s really cute and Wooyoung can feel San’s arm rubbing up against his, but Wooyoung doesn’t have time for that.

He wants to laugh with San, he really does. But he can’t. He can’t even fake a smile.

Without a word, Wooyoung pivots and walks off to their left, and he senses everyone grow quiet as he does, and he senses someone following him, too. 

He doesn’t go far, just far enough to where he feels that he can breathe separate air from what just happened. Granted that, in actuality, his discomfort is anchored to things that happened a while ago. 

The footsteps behind him let up when he does, and he hears Prince Yeosang’s liquid gold voice, and it sounds very home-like. 

“I’ve upset you… I apologize,” the prince speaks. “The context in which I read the phrase came across as being of a humorous nature. I wanted to try a jest that would make you laugh, that would make you approve of me…. Seems it has had the opposite effect.”

Wooyoung stays quiet and concentrates on the surface beneath his feet. His loafers are still streaked with some mud from earlier. 

Prince Yeosang goes on. “Something in my gut told me that it would be an appropriate situation to try it out, seeing San confess his devotion to you… I felt that you were a special kind of people, I- I’m not even sure. I apologize again.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize, it is humorous and a harmless joke,” Wooyoung says as he turns around to face the prince, “but only when people who relate say it… otherwise it can be sensitive… for me, at least.”

“The joke coming from you is actually fine and very acceptable,” Wooyoung adds with a heartfelt grin.

“Oh, is it?” Prince Yeosang says, relieved. 

Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen the way you look at Jongho.”

In an abrupt shock, Prince Yeosang’s eyes widen, as he’s putting the pieces together. 

“…Oh… oh…,” he suspires, and Wooyoung softens in unabridged empathy at watching his unraveling. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay, Prince Yeo.”

The prince doesn’t quite seem like he’d be the type to start full-on sobbing, but Wooyoung pulls him in for a hug anyway, just in case he needs a shoulder to cry on. 

“I’m trying to figure out my life,” Prince Yeosang mumbles in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. 

“Ugh, bruh same,” Wooyoung says with a light groan.

“Do you ever feel like you were born with something missing inside…,” Prince Yeosang questions, as he pulls back and drops his arms by his sides. 

Wooyoung stares. “…Like a spleen, or?”

“No, no…,” Prince Yeosang says, “I… I struggle….”

“Oh, god, do you have trouble getting off…?” Wooyoung asks him. 

The prince matches Wooyoung’s confusion. “Huh?”

“Okay this conversation is gonna be interesting,” Wooyoung says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, do you have difficulties pleasuring yourself.”

“No no it’s not that, I can do that just fine,” Prince Yeosang insists straight away.

Wooyoung inhales. “Oh wow, okay.”

“I do not know if I am capable of belonging with another human being under those circumstances, or if I am capable of falling in love like everybody wants me to…,” Prince Yeosang murmurs, his heart apparently finding its words. “…Maybe I can, but I have never felt certain of it, and I have never been in the deepest throes of love before, and I fear I never will at this point…. And then, when I do feel a flare or a spark, it’s- it’s someone… unexpected, who causes it…. A few individuals, actually, have made me question and more recently, one other person, only slightly….”

Wooyoung decides to choose peace and ignore the fact that that last remark was more than likely about San. 

Prince Yeosang tilts his chin skyward, to where the flaxen pollen sails overhead. “…But I don’t know- there’s… something different about this one person, their voice… even their speaking voice makes me feel at ease….”

“But I am so afraid that I will never be able to love him any differently than I do anybody else,” Prince Yeosang concludes.

His shoulder-length hair is swept up in a current of gentle air. 

Wooyoung thinks that this is a better moment to just listen, rather than to speak. 

“You are not allowed to tell a single living soul or else I will be incredibly fucking upset,” Prince Yeosang says, snapping out of his trance. 

“Okay okay damn Prince Yeo! I wouldn’t tell anyone, I got your back,” Wooyoung bleats, and then he offers the prince a smile, one that he really hopes will translate to something along the lines of _you are valid._

With cheeks a modest pink, Prince Yeosang’s expression is mostly unreadable, but he doesn’t shy away from Wooyoung’s gaze. 

“Want another hug?” Wooyoung asks, tapping the tips of his pointer fingers together alongside a pout. 

Prince Yeosang rolls his eyes as the two of them embrace once again, and Wooyoung pats the prince’s back before releasing him. 

“Hey… does the Choi family library sound familiar to you at all…?”

For a second, Wooyoung isn’t even sure if the question left his lips or not. 

Prince Yeosang is ensnarled in a pause, thinking long and hard before delivering his answer. “…No,” he says. 

Following a delay of his own, Wooyoung just nods at him, and then looks off into the trees. 

He ponders all this. Different kinds of love. 

He wonders what San is thinking, what San thinks in all sincerity. 

Wooyoung longs to talk to San, but they continue their anomalous arrangements; they don’t speak or communicate unless they’re inside of the story, or in San’s safe place; the library.

What if Wooyoung wants San outside of these perimeters. Every time he tries to text San, he can’t, he’s afraid. 

It’s one thing to be packaged and labeled as someone’s best friend; it’s an entirely different thing to feel like one. 

When Wooyoung and Prince Yeosang rejoin their crew, San flashes Wooyoung a concerned look, but he turns away shortly after and doesn’t say anything. 

And it’s unmistakable that, while the two of them broke off from the group, Yunho’s fret has worsened. He looks plagued with anxiety. 

“I can’t do anything without him…,” the knight says. 

They all peer at Yunho, who’s trying so hard to keep the dam from fracturing. Prince Seonghwa and Jongho are on either side of him, visibly desperate to do something of help, but also very much so wanting to give him space, too. 

It makes absolute sense to Wooyoung why this must be such an unimagined struggle for Yunho. He can presume that the knight, though valiant, must feel lost without Mingi. 

Yunho quavers. “…I need to learn how to do things without him….” 

“It’s okay to need someone,” San says quietly. 

San’s words show promising signs of being the exact solace that Yunho could benefit from, but only for a second or two. 

“I didn’t get to tell him anything…,” Yunho whispers, and at this, something inside of him breaks, or perhaps it was something that was already broken. 

Hongjoong is peeking up and over at Prince Seonghwa, who’s looking down and away. 

As the sky grows bruised, the seven of them take this moment of silence to feel what is intimately theirs, and what may be more shared than they realize. 

Searching the heroic faces in front of him, Wooyoung seizes a breath. 

“Let’s keep going, and let’s not give up.”

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

It’s an evening of unfulfilled wishes, bathing and written in the stars, when the explorers return to the palace’s infirmary.

Empty-handed, they settle down to rest their tired bodies. 

There is only one patient occupying the cozy chambers. By candlelight, and on cushions, the seven of them surround Mingi’s cot that’s laid out on the floor in a snug corner. 

Yunho kneels at Mingi’s right hand. Prince Yeosang is seated in between Prince Seonghwa and Hongjoong, and Jongho’s shoulder is a pillow for Hongjoong’s head. 

Wooyoung and San are slumped against each other at the foot of Mingi’s bed. 

They don’t have much to say at this point and at this hour. Jongho hums a clean and mending tune, and a few of them join in, in mellow haphazardness. They sing together tenderhearted, mourning their failures at finding a cure for the slumbering knight. 

Prince Yeosang leaves them for a short while, only to return with a violin in hand. 

“Music is healing. I brought my instrument,” he says. 

And he positions the bow on the tightrope strings, and begins playing. He’s fantastic at it; a prodigy, perhaps. The chords are sorrowful, but comforting too, Wooyoung thinks. 

Listening intently, Jongho glides in with such effortlessness, and he sings.

  
  


_“Dreaming so softly in spheres far yonder;_

_Nightingales and glister bugs in dusk’s sky._

_Glimpses in one’s stupor makes one ponder,_

_Glimmers in the dark refuse this goodbye._

_Your dreams are my dreams, I long to confess._

_Does this weakness and aching make me strong?_

_Perhaps, if our longings do coalesce._

_Possibly, if reveries are not wrong._

_But what_ is _this torture caught in one’s chest?_

_O the tears I shed just to feel awake._

_Bounding and bolting as far to the west,_

_Where we meet on the banks of sorrow’s lake._

_Drowsing so faintly in your cradle arms,_

_As we leave our hopes in these fabled charms.”_

  
  


Prince Yeosang does a pretty damn good job at playing it cool while he and Jongho are orchestrating together, and Jongho, too, carries on as if this is the most natural collaboration to ever exist. 

As Prince Yeosang continues his melody with eyes closed, Wooyoung watches him fondly, and it’s all reminding him of a kid in elementary school who he met at music lessons, with tartan shorts, double-knotted shoelaces, and a reddened nose, crying from shyness.

Prince Seonghwa claps very gently after each song, and Hongjoong imitates him by doing the same. 

Eventually, when their restlessness picks back up again, they trade music for further researching. 

There’s a wall of books in the candlelit infirmary, which Wooyoung finds interesting. Why not keep all of the books in the grand library? But, it seems that these books are specifically catered for medicinal purposes. Another thing is that all of this literature is written in an entirely unknown language; for Wooyoung and San, at least. This isn’t stopping San from flipping through volume after volume though.

He’s hunched over a book with Prince Yeosang right now, and their fingers accidentally brush when the two of them try to turn the page. In embarrassment, they both recoil and shrink back a bit. 

“It- it says here, that Love’s True Kiss can remedy someone from a spell,” Prince Yeosang reads. 

At hearing this, there’s a collective pause.

Hongjoong is blushing. “What the fuck,” he mutters. 

“You’re his best companion, you kiss him,” Jongho urges Yunho. 

“Is that allowed?” Yunho yelps, peering around at all of the eyes on him. 

“Hell yeah,” Wooyoung says. 

“Will a kiss on the cheek suffice?” Yunho questions. 

San sits back with a leisure sigh. “You know what they say, ‘a kiss on the cheek leads to a big fat cock in between your ass chee-’”

“Who _raised_ you?” Wooyoung interjects, blinking wildly. San says the craziest shit out loud in the open. 

“The internet,” San replies. 

“I’ve never kissed someone before…,” Yunho mumbles as he’s wringing his hands together. 

Wooyoung places a hand of his own on the knight’s shoulder and gives him a smile. “Oh it’s really easy! Just smash your face on his.”

“And, after approximately one minute or whenever it feels right, you can stick your tongue in his mouth too,” San adds. 

Yunho’s brow is furrowed. Everyone holds still and silent. Even the flames on the candles are hushed. 

After busying himself with returning a few books to their places on the shelves, Yunho kneels back down, where Mingi is lying on his back in an unknowing bliss. 

“Um…,” Yunho starts, gazing at his comrade. 

“…H-Hi, Mingi…. Please forgive me, for doing this w-without your permission… I hope this works….” 

Yunho bends forward and down, and instead of squeezing his eyes shut like Wooyoung expected him to, Yunho lets his eyelids fall with ease, as he presses his lips onto Mingi’s. 

Although static and timid, Mingi’s lips were slightly parted and Yunho totally went in at an angle and the whole thing is kind of sloppy and hot. Wooyoung is impressed. 

Both Hongjoong and Prince Seonghwa have their mouths hanging wide open. With the snap of his neck, Prince Seonghwa looks over directly at Hongjoong to check his reaction and it’s so painfully obvious Wooyoung wants to facepalm. 

Jongho is smiling a pleasant smile and Prince Yeosang is suddenly very busy scrutinizing his fingernails. Wooyoung doesn’t take note of San’s reaction. 

Yunho resurfaces for air and stumbles backwards, falling onto his bottom. 

“Is he awake? Did it work?” he asks, frantic. 

San shuffles closer on his knees and leans over Mingi, whose eyes are gradually opening, his chest rising and falling under more profundity than before. 

Blinking through the dim light, the afflicted knight stares up at San. 

“…An angel…?” Mingi rasps. 

San turns crimson as he stares back, and Yunho clears his throat. 

“Don’t _frighten_ me like that ever again!” Yunho wails, hitting Mingi’s arm at half-strength. 

Mingi is groggy and he looks around the room. He looks around at everyone, and he sees Yunho’s eyes welling up with tears, and his lips start trembling, and he starts crying. 

“…I- I w-was supposed to be s-strong, I was supposed to s-save everybody…,” Mingi blubbers. 

“Sir Mingi, please, do not be troubled, we are so glad to have you back!” Prince Seonghwa speaks. “Are you in need of some water? An additional blanket? Please, someone, for the love of starlight fetch him some water!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t… I’m sorry for being a burden to everybody,” Mingi goes on, ignoring the prince. “I’m so sorry… I usually t-try to stay calm and… and….” 

“Chill?” Wooyoung offers.

“Yeah, chill,” Mingi says sadly.

“You are a chill dude Mingi, but you’re allowed to have emotions. You’re allowed to feel things,” Wooyoung tells him. 

“…Yes, I- I agree with this… you are like my firm fortress, always, but when you have moments of elation, tenacity, falterings, melancholy… when you share those moments with me, I think that it’s beautiful,” Yunho utters. 

He has an adoring hand clasped onto one of Mingi’s, who appears to be running a sudden fever. 

“Despite what you may think and feel,” Wooyoung says, “your emotion _is_ a sign of strength, and nothing will ever be able to take that away from you.” 

Mingi sniffles, and entrusts Wooyoung a mild smile. “…How did you all manage to break the spell?”

“It was Yunho,” Jongho says as he helps Mingi sit up, then handing him a pitcher of water.

Yunho’s cheeks flush darker than they already were. 

“See? You are your own person, doing your own things and stuff,” Wooyoung smirks at him. 

Yunho rolls his dampened eyes, and pushes Wooyoung’s shoulder in good spirits. 

And with his smile still intact, Yunho reaches forward and cups Mingi’s face in the palms of his hands. 

“…Why are you looking at me like that…?” Mingi asks, soft; his eyes searching in Yunho’s. 

Yunho breathes in, and out. “I missed you.”

With this, there is a tangible relief in the air, laughter is restored, there’s life again at the center of their octagon. 

After a few minutes of everyone filling Mingi in on what happened and doing dramatic reenactments of their day’s journey, Wooyoung senses San by his side and tingles fasten up his spine like a zipper. 

“Should we go…?” is his murmur in Wooyoung’s ear. 

“Let’s just stay one night, please?” Wooyoung begs, and he can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. He’s tired, and he’d much rather crash here and have a sleepover with everyone than walk all the way down the fathomless hall to the library. 

“I want to go…,” San says, quiet. 

It has been a long visit this time, maybe the longest they’ve stayed so far. Somewhere deep down inside, Wooyoung knows that he does spend more time in the real world than he does here in Crescent, but it feels like the very opposite.

Wooyoung and San hug on Mingi before they bid everybody farewell, and they tease Hongjoong for making very unconvincing gagging noises at the skinship. 

They don’t see any other characters. It was one of those days that truly felt like this kingdom belongs to the eight of them. It’s so tranquil and solitary under these cathedral ceilings, Wooyoung has to check to make sure that San is still walking by his side. 

The library finds them, and Wooyoung closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see how horrifying the hourglass is. He’s too nervous to ask San if the glass of the object looks transparent to him, or blackened. Wooyoung just closes his eyes, and thinks about the musicality of his friends’ laughter. 

<><><>

<><><><><><><><>

<><><>

Each and every commodity under satellite of the moon feels heavy again as Wooyoung and San are sewn into the fabric of the real world. 

They both groan in time with the creak of the attic floor, at this sensation that’s almost comparable to jet lag but far worse. 

Stretching out like a cat in a sunbath, San rolls over and cuddles into the side of Wooyoung’s body with ease, and in a spontaneous combustion, Wooyoung curls into this hazy affection, and he stamps his lips on the stove of San’s cheek.

_Oh fuck._

San appears punch-drunk. His eyelids flutter slow, unlike the thumping in Wooyoung’s chest. 

“…Is this… okay?” Wooyoung asks a minute too late. 

The dark of the attic conceals any rising temperatures that may or may not be spreading out to the tips of their ears, and they stare at one another; closely, honestly drinking in the sight of each other, in a drought of hallucinated silence. 

In eventual response, San just nods his head, kind of. It’s not a _no_ , it’s definitely not a _no._

The mortal library is so cold during these hours when nobody is allowed inside of it. 

Why is Wooyoung already anticipating that this will fall apart. Why is he forecasting all of this to deteriorate in front of him like words on pages that he can never complete, when it feels like San is someone he’s known all his life, in other stories, in other universes, and further still. Wooyoung has experienced magic with San, this is a togetherness unlike any other. What will happen to them from here. Wooyoung wants to be San’s favorite, his one and only sentient. 

Wooyoung doesn’t want any more of these weird goodbyes and hellos. If only they could stay inside of the vinyl record. Although, he has a hunch that that’s not what San would want at all.

Why is it so cold here…. It’s only going to get worse with winter coming. 

“Are you okay…?” Wooyoung whispers.

Because San looks torn. He looks contemplative, within a beautiful bracket of brooding. 

Weak-kneed even in his lounging position, Wooyoung reaches forward, and runs his fingers through San’s hair. San doesn’t shun this, so Wooyoung keeps doing it. 

“Everyone is really cool,” San mumbles. 

Maybe San needed new friends, too.

“What about me?” Wooyoung says. 

San keeps his eyes, glistening midnight waterbodys, trained on the pair lying parallel to him. “You’re pretty cool too….”

“Who’s your favorite out of the seven of us?” Wooyoung asks, grinning. 

“Not saying.”

Wooyoung’s face goes blank. “Oh my god, it’s not me?”

“It’s a secret,” San says with finality, and he boops Wooyoung’s nose. 

Wooyoung scowls, albeit harmless, and he burrows his head in the crook of San’s neck. He feels San’s hand, holding the top of his head in place. 

“Didn’t you say a little something about me being your best friend? Best friends share secrets,” Wooyoung mutters. 

“Wooyoung…,” San whines, “why are you like this….”

Wooyoung keeps his nose tucked in the soft haven between San’s jawline and shoulder, so, _so_ lightheaded over the reality that it has never been here before. His fingers are now tangled in San’s blonde locks.

“If I said that you’re my best friend, then of course you’re my favorite…,” San says. 

At this, Wooyoung hums, he feels lovesick to his very core. Wooyoung’s mouth veers to the seashell of San’s ear. 

“…You’re so fucking cute….”

Wooyoung rolls on top of San, and something like a whimper flits up to the roof of their secret place but Wooyoung isn’t sure who it came from and San’s hand is a vise around Wooyoung’s bicep; San’s chest, the foundation beneath him. San is half-hard. Wooyoung is pretty sure that he’s not just imagining it, or that it’s not just San’s phone in his pocket. 

Wooyoung wants to make San harder, and then take care of it for him. He can take care of it for him. 

“W-Woo… young…,” San says, and it’s a breathlessness that could be found with a message in a bottle. 

San’s fingertips roam down towards Wooyoung’s hips which makes Wooyoung squirm and San slaps a hand over his mouth as he whines, and Wooyoung wasn’t exactly expecting a need to plaster his own noise, but he does, his hand moving involuntarily, and his eyes sting with tears. 

But he manages a swift recovery, dragging his hand from his face to comb his hair away from his wrinkled brow. Wooyoung then places his fingers on San’s makeshift mask with care, encouraging him to breathe, and his lips are so close, while they hesitate and tremble, push and pull. 

He’s so pretty, San is so pretty holy _shit._

Wooyoung is freaking out because are they about to fuck? San makes sex jokes all the time, is he into that? Is he into fucking around and stuff? Would he be into fucking around with Wooyoung…. Wooyoung has no clue what San’s place is like, but, thinking about their other options, being Wooyoung’s room in his share house or the guest room in his grandmother’s house, the floor of the library’s attic might actually be their best bet. 

This is kind of moving a little fast. The way San is arching his back a bit already, Wooyoung is about to swallow San whole. He’s Wooyoung’s only earthbound friend right now, and yet they have this bizarre custom of going into a fantasyland together, but then hardly talking or seeing each other outside of the story. There’s maybe a magnetism between them, but what if they should just stay friends? Or just acquaintances. Wooyoung wants to be closer to San, Wooyoung wants to be close to somebody. 

Wooyoung doesn’t care if it’s old-fashioned but he really would prefer to confess before they show each other their dicks. But Wooyoung wants San before he disappears, before it’s too late, before Wooyoung’s mind escapes him. Wooyoung has wanted San all along. 

If Wooyoung claims San’s lips, right now, perhaps Wooyoung will no longer have anyone to feel envious of. San’s hands are slipping on the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, San’s sighing brings Wooyoung back to the present moment.

“… _Wooyoung_ … _Wooyoung_ … _Wooyoung_ ….” 

Their noses collide, and Wooyoung keeps his lips parted. He feels heartbeats, everywhere. 

“Is that- is that y-your phone…?”

It is. It’s Wooyoung’s phone in the pocket of his trousers, and it’s vibrating.

Wooyoung pulls back a little, and gazes down at San. Why are they both panting so heavily when they literally did nothing yet. 

Wooyoung’s phone keeps buzzing. Who the _fuck_ is it, he doesn’t even know anybody. 

In a dizziness Wooyoung sits up, now straddling San who remains lying on his back. Wooyoung digs up his phone, and texts from his cousin are illuminating on the screen.

  
  


**asshole sachon-hyung:**

Where the fuck are you

I’m assuming you’re on your fucking way home?

Or do you live at that smelly old library now lmao 

Halmeoni had a fall

Fell out in the street by her mailbox 

She’s hurt and confused 

She’s upset 

The one time she needed you most

and you’re not over here? 

Had somewhere fucking better to be? 

So much for you being her fucking favorite I guess? 

  
  


_Where the fuck are you._

_Where the fuck are you._

_Where the fuck are you._

  
  


Wooyoung feels San’s thumb, rubbing unhurried shapes on his wrist; his ginger little voice reminds Wooyoung of where he might be. 

“…Wooyoung… is everything okay…?”

The images on his phone blend into a portrait of his grandmother, the best listener, hearkening while he plays the piano for her, as he lets this information sink in. Every nerve in Wooyoung’s body bites, and implodes, and he fears even his own shuddered breath. 

  
“ _Fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dudes the briar rose didn’t even exist hahaha 
> 
> feel free to hate me for the cockblock 🤠 we are TRYING to keep this M rated lmao
> 
> seongjoong took like five million steps backward but I promise I’ll fix that 
> 
> a super big THANK YOU to my trusting, selfless, fluorescent little flower friend R for inspiring me for the woosang moment!!!! 🥺🌟 I love you more than most things and I gotta write that aro main character for u someday 😤💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞
> 
> also thank u to my sweet VV for confirming the usage of sachon-hyung for me lol I did not wanna give that asshole an actual name 😭
> 
> thank you guys soooooo MUCH for reading and for journeying along with me on this one 😭🥺🥰 see u next time!!! 👀⏳🖤
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	6. The Voice of the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW / TW in this chapter:  
> nyctophobia?  
> ommetaphobia?
> 
> I’m not sure if these fears can arise through reading, I’m sure it’s different for everyone with these phobias, but better safe than sorry to give a heads-up! ❤️ if you have any fears of the dark / night / going blind, you might want to skip/skim towards the very end of the chapter, after Pan goes dragon mode and it starts to rain

They’ve brought in a caregiver for Wooyoung’s grandmother, and the elderly woman has already tried to hook her grandson up with the poor soft-spoken young lady who is essentially getting paid to replace her grandson. 

Everything is fine. When people ask Wooyoung how he’s doing, he says that he’s doing fine. 

Because of the adjustments, Wooyoung hasn’t been going over to his grandmother’s house as frequently. 

When he stops to think about it, he isn’t even sure what he’s been doing lately. 

Apart from attending university, of course, which he even forgets about sometimes. It’ll be in the middle of a lecture when he’ll suddenly remember that he did in fact get out of bed that morning, get dressed, and eat breakfast. 

Wooyoung can’t tell the difference between two days and two weeks and two months. But he knows what San’s two front teeth look like. He knows San’s pair of eyes. He knows seven pairs of eyes, but he doesn’t really recognize his own anymore, in the mirror. 

He doesn’t have time to worry about it though; he keeps up with his studies, he does continue to visit his grandmother often enough, and he lies on the wooden floorboards of the library’s attic, so that he can go be infatuated somewhere far away.

It’s just the same as any other type of escapism, he tells himself. But unlike a gaming console, borrowing a book and a vinyl record from the library is free. 

Wooyoung has had some rather striking and formidable temptations to take any little puddles of free time at his disposal, and use them to hurtle down the gnarled labyrinth of halls at the Choi library, slink up the spiral staircase, and go visit Crescent on his own. Just to pop in and see what Hongjoong is up to. Just a quick check to see if the seasons have changed there yet, just out of curiosity. 

But the thought of going without San doesn’t really feel right, regardless of Wooyoung’s hunger to escape. So Wooyoung waits for afterglow, every day he waits for the librarian to tuck his final book away and join him in the darkness. 

  
  


“ _This is the tale of the Water Spirit,_

_and the voice anchored under the sea._

_In the kelp forest, there chants an ocean song_ ….

_Where freedom is only an aspiration,_

_where heroes must face their worst pain forebode,_

_in the downpour at the Crescent Crossroad_ ….”

  
  


The narrator’s haggard vocals are extra echoey in Wooyoung’s ears, the daylight in Crescent Kingdom especially a contrast to the real world’s autumn stupor. 

The petals are falling from the cloudless sky, silken snow.

And it’s hushed, it’s pretty laid-back today as Wooyoung and San help each other up to their feet and as they make their way through the crisp air of the fantasyland’s greenwood, until they hear what is the unmistakable pitch of Prince Seonghwa’s voice, zigzagging through the trees. 

“…San…? Wooyoung…? _San,_ Wooyoung, for the love of starlight _where_ are you two hiding!”

They see him up ahead, all decked out in his finery. He’s pushing past boughs, earring swinging like a chandelier, a pretty sheen of perspiration on his brow. 

“Prince Hwa, is everything okay?” San asks, rushing right up to the prince’s side and they nearly embrace and Wooyoung decides that he has no energy for any sort of reaction apart from the hint of annoyance twitching down at the corners of his mouth. 

“We wondered where you were,” Prince Seonghwa says to them, a slight tremble in his vocals. 

Silence. There has still been no acknowledgement or explanation of where exactly Wooyoung and San come from. At this point, Wooyoung really is unsure why this is; if it’s because he and San are too lazy to launch into a whole discussion that could cause these fairytale characters to have an existential crisis, or if there is some sort of magic actually holding them back, like the enchantment that prevents them from speaking directly about the story’s contents in the real world. 

“Yeah, sorry, we wandered off…,” Wooyoung mumbles. 

Prince Seonghwa worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Never mind that, we must make haste, Jongho is in danger!”

When they find Jongho, he isn’t wrestling an unidentified beast of the woods, or being bitten to death on the shoulder by Hongjoong, he’s just sitting in the grass of a small meadow, looking demoralized. 

Prince Yeosang, Hongjoong, Sir Mingi, and Sir Yunho are situated around him, and they’re all puzzling over pieces of parchment paper, akin to notes being passed between friends during class in high school. 

“Where do you two always run off to?” Yunho asks as Wooyoung and San take a seat next to him. 

Neither of them conjure up an answer. 

Yunho peeks around at their group before lowering his voice. “Do you go off to… you know… kiss?” 

“N- _No!_ ” Wooyoung squawks without delay. But god he _wishes_ that Yunho’s assumption was the truth. 

San is holding very still. “…Why… would you think… that…,” he says, failing entirely at sounding casual. 

“The both of you seem to know a lot about those things,” Yunho shrugs. “I mean, you gave me the best advice of my life, after all,” the knight adds, accompanied by a smirk. 

With eyebrows raised and mouths ajar, Wooyoung and San look from Yunho, over to Mingi, who has little white wildflowers peppered in his hair. 

“Please, Wooyoung and San, read these alarming notes,” Prince Seonghwa urges.

He hands them a short pile of jottings that Wooyoung can guess are written by Jongho; the sonneteer has in front of him a pocket-sized set consisting of an ink jar and quill, resting atop a stack of parchment.

Wooyoung and San lean in together to thumb through the messages. 

  
  


_Dear companions, I must inform you of my plight._

_I met with the King, and under his contract, I traded my voice for enhanced magical powers._

_The King tossed my voice into the ocean._

_And it seems that I was misled. The magic is a sham._

_My abilities are even weaker than they were before, if I am not mistaken._

  
  


What’s almost just as alarming as the news itself, is the fact that this is the first time in Crescent that Wooyoung has seen anything written in Korean, apart from the signage outside of Hongjoong’s residence. Wooyoung can decipher Jongho’s Hangul perfectly. Jongho didn’t write in the language used in the remedial books that they had scoured through in search for Mingi’s cure. 

“I’m still so confused, Jongho, is the King going to fix his error?” Hongjoong questions in earnest. 

Jongho looks up at him, and simply shakes his head _no._

With impressive speed, he writes up a new note, and they pass it around their circle. 

  
  


_Furthermore, I believe that our memories have been compromised._

_Which is why I sought out heightened sorcery to begin with. In hopes that this advanced mastery would help me uncover the truth._

  
  


Everyone takes a moment to ponder this rather heavy speculation. 

“Oh… Hong, didn’t you say something about not being able to remember your childhood,” Wooyoung says. 

“…Can’t believe it’s taken us this long to talk about it…,” San grumbles before the pauper can do anything more than nod his head in response. 

“Wait _what?_ ” Wooyoung says, serious now. “You’ve known something about this?”

San remains reticent, and exchanges glances with Jongho. 

Exasperated, Wooyoung sighs. “ _Sannie-_ ”

“You won’t like hearing what I have to say so I’m not gonna say anything…,” San states. 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest because he doesn’t even like hearing _that._ The last thing he wants to do is fight with San.

Jongho dips his quill, scribbles on a new sheet, and passes it along. 

  
  


_This is fucked. I want my voice returned to me._

  
  


“Should we prepare for a quest, then?” Yunho suggests. “A quest to retrieve Jongho’s voice from the ocean.” 

There are mumbles of agreement as Jongho’s enlightenment is still sinking in, and as they all come to realize that they really will need to take this into their own hands. 

Jongho puts down one final note before he whips out a leather pouch and packs up his writing toolbox. 

  
  


_I am nothing without my voice._

  
  


Nobody is pleased to read this.

Why would Jongho think this about himself? Is this what Jongho thinks? That people think this of him? 

There’s an unanimity in the very air that they breathe, they’re all hellbent on convincing him otherwise, especially Prince Yeosang.

“Bullshit,” the blonde prince utters. 

Unsmiling, he stares at Jongho. And Jongho just gulps, subtly, and holds strong his noble gaze. 

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They waste no further time in vacating the meadow and advancing towards the castle, and Wooyoung notices right from the get-go that the kingdom is hosting an abnormal number of occupants today. There’s a sense of urgency coursing throughout the spacious corridors, fancy people are scrambling around as if a coronation is set to take place this evening. It isn’t the night of a grand ball or anything like that, as far as Wooyoung knows. 

While the princes excuse themselves to go change into attire better-suited for traveling, the rest of them take to the royal kitchens and the knights’ quarters to gather supplies for the journey. None of the guards or handmaids or cooks in the stronghold pay them any mind when they see that they’re with Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho.

And soon enough, the eight of them reassemble, and they leave behind the hustle and bustle to begin their voyage for the hidden sea. 

All of them have a vague idea of where exactly the ocean lies, except for Wooyoung and San of course. They’re headed in the direction of the mountain range looming northwest of the palace. Yunho and Mingi are convinced that they’ll be able to use the flora and fauna to discern their closeness to the coastline, and Jongho concurs with this method. 

Apparently nobody, and especially royalty, is allowed to venture to such distances without some form of an official order. The six that belong to this realm do appear a bit leery about setting off, more so than when they went in search of a remedy for Mingi, but for the most part their crew in conjunction feels resolved. They’re going off without instruction or permission, because they’re facing a sudden qualm about the one whose permission they need. 

What’s this King going to do about it anyway, is the way Wooyoung sees it. What’s the worst he could do, take all of their voices away? Maybe that would call forth the invention of the mobile phone in this world. They could just text everything to each other, and _The Octarchy Princes_ would just turn into a chatfic of sorts. Although, Wooyoung would really miss the sound of his friends’ voices. He already misses Jongho’s voice a lot. 

Leading the way into the shade of the forest is Mingi, with Yunho at his heels. They’re not sporting their armor today, they’re dressed rather comfortably like the rest of them, and on their backs are rucksacks bearing camping equipment that Jongho has shrunken down with the magic that he still possesses.

The princes shadow after the knights, and they’re both wearing boots and long coats and they look like supermodels. Jongho, who’s carrying on his shoulder a basket overflowing with foods, walks wordless next to Prince Yeosang.

Pan the cat is trotting right alongside Prince Seonghwa at his ankles, the raven-haired prince is so winsome even Hongjoong’s pet is simping. 

Wooyoung, San, and Hongjoong trail behind, whispering and laughing. Wooyoung feels more like himself, less grumpy as though he was woken from a nap, and more in his element now that their group has set off on a brand-new adventure. 

With his fingers tucked in, Hongjoong covers his mouth every time he giggles, and the laughter makes his butterflies flutter with triumph and shimmer in gold, which is something they’ve started to do more recently, and something that Wooyoung loves the sight of. 

“Hey, Prince Hwa,” San calls out. 

Prince Seonghwa twists his torso and peers over his shoulder at them as he continues on walking. “Yes? Is everything quite alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing, we just think that you’re cute,” San grins, and Wooyoung follows up with an obnoxious chortle. 

“ _Stop!_ ” Hongjoong hisses in embarrassment. He tries his best to reach across Wooyoung to grab at San, which causes the three of them to knock into each other a little bit. 

A butterfly of dazzling blue lands right on the rosy tip of Hongjoong’s nose. Prince Seonghwa, nearly stumbling over a fallen branch, blushes and faces forward again. 

The woodlands aren’t too dense here, and they feel a somewhat uncanny force with them as they hike along; even the trees seem to know that they shouldn’t be this far removed from the front gates of the fortress. 

But good signs in nature point them onward like a leafy map. They’re seeing more and more Merdevil’s Tail draped on the forest floor. Yunho is certain that it’s an aquatic plant because legend tells that the vines attach themselves onto the boots of pirates, and are then carried into the forest by their swindling hosts. 

Maiden Mollusks thrive in damp habitats and the eight of them are stumbling upon plenty of these snail-like critters, with their pastel shells similar to puffy gowns. Apparently there’s a myth about their husks being one of the main ingredients for the strongest love potion in existence, but Jongho confirms that it is nothing more than an old wives’ tale. 

Wooyoung hadn’t realized how close it was to nightfall when he and San had arrived earlier. 

Time has slipped right through their hands, and some sort of wyverns are now flying overhead; moving beacons in the twilight. They’re a very identical size to Pan in his dragon form, but they seem to only have two legs, and their wings are like lantern light on the water at witching hour, protecting the heroes, or leading them to battle. 

And as the whole greenwood is swallowed up in evening’s cloak, and all things nocturnal arise and glow in the dark, Wooyoung and company stop at a large tree. It looks to be a type of Wisteria and its branches are twinkling the same as stringed fairy lights. They decide to camp here for the night.

There’s no scent of seawater yet, but they really are past the point of no return, so they relax as best as they can. 

A few of them gather wood to start a fire, and the others set down blankets and pillows and pitch up canopies under the purple luster of the tree. 

They brought a feast’s worth of meat to cook over the open fire, in addition to an assortment of fruits and freshly-baked loaves of bread, but none of it tastes like much of anything, to Wooyoung at least. He reckons that he just needs to get even more acclimated in this world, in order for the food to start tasting right. 

They eat and drink until they feel they could roll away.

It’s really peaceful here at the crackling bonfire for the most part, but there is still a hint of something unaccountable in the inky atmosphere. 

“I don’t remember the forest being this ill at ease…,” Yunho comments while he’s peering out into the chirping wilderness. 

“It’s because complete balance is yet to be claimed, most likely,” Mingi says, “and guess who’s fault that is….”

“Leave me alone,” Prince Yeosang deadpans. 

“Yes, please, let us suffer in peace,” says Prince Seonghwa, weary. 

“If they would just hurry along and choose princesses already,” Yunho mumbles. 

“It’s definitely that,” Mingi nods. “The King told me himself.” 

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “You’re a liar, nobody is on such casual terms with the King, not even Jongho.” 

“Prince Seonghwa and I hardly see the man,” Prince Yeosang says. 

“Prince Hwa, do you want to get married?” Wooyoung questions from where he’s resting on his back, and Prince Seonghwa looks to his right, and then to his left, as if Wooyoung was referring to someone else named Prince Hwa.

“I want to wed with and devote my heart to the individual that I’m- who I fall in love with…,” Prince Seonghwa answers, hugging his knees in closer to his chest. “I feel pressure to court a boisterous maiden from an arrogant family, like everyone expects me to.”

Prince Yeosang hums. “Same- about feeling pressure….”

Jongho is staring ahead, using a stick to draw aimless lines in the earth, his chin resting in his palm. 

“So how does the whole process work?” San goes on to ask. 

Prince Yeosang glances at Prince Seonghwa, clearly not wanting to be the one to explain. 

Prince Seonghwa wets his lips and gazes skyward. “Well, I would court the maiden, and tell her all about my intentions to have her as my Princess, and Crescent’s future Queen. I would then invite her to my bedchambers on the evening following her acceptance, and we would then be required to produce children.”

“Oh god, do the babies just pop out instantly in this world?” Wooyoung groans. 

“Ah, no,” Prince Seonghwa says, shaking his head, “it takes approximately nine months for the offspring to develop.” 

Wooyoung rolls over and squishes his cheek into the blanket beneath him. “Oh, okay, that’s how it is as far as I know, too.” 

“That is how it is basically,” Prince Seonghwa sulks.

“That’s rough, your highness,” Mingi says. 

“I’m trying to avoid it at all costs,” Prince Yeosang chimes in as he’s examining his fingernails. 

Prince Seonghwa sighs. “There’s nothing very romantic about an entire kingdom breathing down your neck….”

At this, Wooyoung, San, Yunho, and Mingi break out into _oohs_ and _aahs._

“Prince Seonghwa is a romantic,” Wooyoung sings. 

Prince Seonghwa sighs once more. “I’m in the process of growing a garden for my soulmate… I intend to adore t-them. I- I pray that they are eating warm meals every day, and drinking plenty of fresh water from the purest of wishing wells… I pray for the day to come soon when we can be together, when I can twirl them around the grand ballroom, when I can provide for them everything they desire. Their health, happiness, and hope will be my compass north. I read a fable once, of a prince who took his beloved on a magical carpet ride. This is what I wish to do for my dearest flower. I will hold their hand, and I will hold them gently. I will confess my love for them each and every day, and oh how I hope I will be able to convey a tenderness just as profound as our very first time… I will love them, before anything else. Above all else. I love them more than music, more than sustenance and sunrises….” 

“ _Damn,_ okay, we stan they them pronouns!” San says, cheery. 

“Can you invite other people to your bedchambers?” Wooyoung questions, trying really hard to pinch back his smirk. “You know, like, friends?”

“No, we’re not allowed to,” Prince Seonghwa frowns, but he brightens back up right away. “My wing in the palace is wonderful though. My bath is luxurious, it’s large enough to swim in! I have a greenhouse, where I’m nurturing my soulmate’s garden, and I name all of the plants, my bed is soft and quite large as well, sometimes I get lost in it, it’s four-postered and has sheer curtains that sway when I prop my windows open, it’s absolutely _perfect_ for noontime naps, and right next to my lovely little tea room is my observatory for stargazing, ah, Hongjoong you would _love_ it, I wish I could show y-”

Prince Seonghwa halts, gasping a bit at his own words, and Hongjoong, who’s lying on his stomach, stops swinging his legs and eyeballs the prince, looking like a deer in the headlights. The pauper has been just as soundless as Jongho tonight. 

Jongho brings out his quill and ink pouch. He scribbles on a piece of parchment, and passes it to Prince Yeosang. Shameless, Wooyoung crawls on his knees to go peek over the prince’s shoulder.

  
  


_How about you, Prince Yeosang, what are your bedchambers like?_

And it’s rather innocent, the sonneteer’s wispy script and his personable countenance, but even so, Prince Yeosang is wearing the expression of someone who just got caught red-handed. He stares at Jongho, and it looks like his mouth is a little dry, if Wooyoung didn’t know any better. 

“Most everything is made of gold. I own one of every instrument in existence, but the violin is my favorite,” Prince Yeosang says.

Wooyoung’s ears perk up at hearing this. 

Admittedly, he really misses playing. He hasn’t had as much time for it. Studying for university has been taking him twice as long lately, due to him having increasing difficulties keeping focused when he’s in the real world.

“Do you have a piano?” Wooyoung asks the prince. 

“A pianoforte?” Prince Yeosang says. “Yes, I do.”

Wooyoung just bobs his head a bit in response. “Oh, cool.”

“Anyhow, you all would shit your trousers if you were to see my wing in the palace,” Prince Yeosang declares as he leans back on his forearms, warming his feet closer to the bonfire. 

“It really is immaculate,” Prince Seonghwa agrees.

“Wait-” San pipes up, “you guys have been to each other’s rooms?”

“Well yes, we’re the Princes, we spend time together when we have nothing else to do,” Prince Seonghwa explains. 

Wooyoung feels his face scrunch up into a mopey scowl. “You guys get to hang out in each other’s rooms, but you can’t have friends come over?”

“Yeah that sucks, make it make sense,” San says. 

“We don’t make the rules,” Prince Yeosang huffs. 

Their debate over royal bedchamber visiting hours turns into quite a fuss until Yunho calms them all down, and then they talk some more about how cool it would be to have a pool party in Prince Seonghwa’s enormous bathtub. 

Wooyoung crawls back over to his spot by San and Hongjoong, and he straightens his posture and smiles at everyone.

“Let’s play a game called Ass, Tiddy, Cock!”

Hongjoong is glaring, because Wooyoung and San have already explained to him before that an ass is not a donkey and a cock is not a rooster and that he himself has nice tiddies.

Wooyoung continues. “If you’re a person who finds attraction in the human body, a lot of people tend to have a natural preference towards which body part they find most attractive! Is everyone comfortable with this?”

They all nod at Wooyoung, staring at him in intrigue, but also looking at him like he’s kind of dumb. 

“Okay, so, ass is what you sit on, tiddies are the dots on your chest, and a cock is what you pee out of!” Wooyoung clarifies. “Me and Sannie will start. I like ass.” 

San makes a finger heart with his right hand and places it next to his dimple. “I like ass too.”

“Tiddy,” Mingi blurts. 

“Um, t-tiddy for me as well? Or perhaps ass,” Yunho ponders. 

Jongho gestures at his chest. 

Prince Yeosang squints at Wooyoung and San. “…And what if I said thighs.”

There’s a collective murmur in agreement that thighs are really fucking valid and that thighs are great. 

“I do believe that I am more of an ass man,” Prince Seonghwa decides. 

“I like cock,” Hongjoong says. 

Wooyoung sputters so hard that he topples over and nearly tears down their tents. He’s mad at himself for losing control because he didn’t get to catch anyone’s wholesome or not-so-wholesome reactions, but he definitely feels San wheezing next to him. 

“I genuinely do not know what possessed me to say that right now,” Hongjoong is muttering, his eyes enlarged as he’s staring into the flames. 

“Oh my god I love honest campfire hours,” San says. 

“It’s all good, Hong!” Wooyoung chuckles, still attempting to recover. “You’re loved and accepted.” 

At this, there’s a timid chorus of _“It’s okay, Hong!”_ and _“Do not fret, Hongjoong!”_ from everybody else as well. 

“I’m mortified, I’m scared- is this normal? Why was I the only one to say it,” Hongjoong whines at Wooyoung. 

With a giggle, Wooyoung taps Hongjoong’s shoulder once, cups his hand around Hongjoong’s ear, and whispers, “Because you were the only one who was brave enough to say it!” 

Wooyoung hugs him. They’re around the same size, they kind of melt into each other. None of Hongjoong’s butterflies have been around. It seems that the dancing insects have dissipated, the further their group has strayed. 

“…I would be living out here in the woods, if it weren’t for the seamstresses giving me my work… I’m so grateful to them, and I’m grateful to you all,” Hongjoong says. 

Wooyoung nuzzles into him further, and he realizes that Hongjoong spoke too quietly for any of the others to hear. 

“This is really fun…,” Wooyoung sighs. “Thank you guys for being my friends….”

“It’s nice, talking comfortably like this,” Prince Yeosang says, and he sounds just as tender as he did when he had confided in Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung beams at him. “Isn’t it? Everyone is accepted here. I love you all.”

“Wooyoung you are precious,” Mingi says. 

“It’s impossible not to treasure you, Wooyoung,” Prince Seonghwa concurs. 

The others join in, Wooyoung thinks he hears San’s mild voice in there somewhere. Wooyoung’s grin overtakes him, he soaks all of this in like soaring sunlight. This moment feels really, really good. 

“I’m sleepy…,” Hongjoong mumbles into Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

Wooyoung pats the top of Hongjoong’s head. “Are you sleepy, cute mushroom spirit?”

Whether or not incidental, San clears his throat. And Yunho then suggests that they all should get some rest. 

The eight of them move to do just that, feeling sluggish and exhausted from the day’s journey. They get their sleeping arrangements set, rolling out downy quilts that are comparable to futons, and it’s no more than a few minutes later when Prince Seonghwa speaks up. 

“Hongjoong, would you care to share a cushion with me tonight?”

The pauper is dumbfounded, he’s staring at the prince as if he needs him to repeat himself. Hongjoong drags his hand up to his face and pinches his cheek, probably jumping to the conclusion that he’s in a dream right now, and he tries to do it low-key but it’s really not. 

“If you do not mind physical touch, I could place my arms around you as we slumber, to keep you warm, and to protect you as well,” Prince Seonghwa says to him. 

Hongjoong peers around, sweaty and flustered, at the six witnesses who are very blatantly watching with bated breath. Mingi has a hand slapped over his mouth. 

Prince Seonghwa continues.

“Like the moon, though it shines so bright, I fear on the surface that it is perhaps cold. I would think that a star nearby might be able to keep it warm. The moon is very beautiful tonight.” 

Prince Seonghwa looks so hopeful, his eyes shining, his brow wrinkled in longing. 

Wooyoung has no clue how Prince Seonghwa even knows what the fuck the moon is. Is Wooyoung the only one who can’t seem to locate the solar star and the lunar satellite in this realm? 

Meanwhile, Hongjoong’s eyes are darting all over the place, most likely wondering if Prince Seonghwa realizes that he’s reciting all of this entirely out loud for everybody to hear. 

In hasty resolve, Hongjoong nods his head and offers a small grunting noise of consent. 

Wooyoung is pleased with this turn of events. It’s good to see Prince Seonghwa grow a pair. 

While everyone gets settled, Pan the cat curls himself up by Hongjoong’s feet. Prince Seonghwa makes sure that their coverings are adequate, and then he lowers himself down into bed and carefully spoons Hongjoong, who’s holding as still as physically possible. 

He’s hesitant at first, but when Prince Seonghwa lets his eyelids fall, he nuzzles into Hongjoong’s tousled hair, and Hongjoong bites down fiercely into his bottom lip and releases a faint moan that everyone chooses to ignore. 

Jongho, Prince Yeosang, Mingi, and Yunho are cuddling under blankets together, playing around on Wooyoung and San’s defective cell phones. 

They’ve claimed that they don’t understand the language in the real world songs, even though they speak in it. Prince Yeosang was able to read Wooyoung’s text messages though, just the same as Wooyoung and San can read Jongho’s handwritten notes. Nothing makes sense. The people of Crescent aren’t quite bilingual. Wooyoung tries to store puzzle pieces like this in an empty box inside his mind, unsure if any of it will be of use someday. 

Mingi has an arm around Yunho’s shoulders, and Yunho has a cheek squashed on Mingi’s chest, and the two of them are giggling at the gallery of selcas that all of them have taken over time; images that, much to Wooyoung’s anguish, do not show up on his phone when he returns home to reality’s grasp. 

At this point, Prince Yeosang has snuggled in pretty close to Jongho, and Wooyoung wonders how it’s going to be for them, if Jongho might want something like romance, but if Prince Yeosang is questioning all of that. Wooyoung hopes that everything will work out. He doesn’t want anything to tear any of these people apart. When he meets someone for the first time, it isn’t uncommon for Wooyoung to feel as though he has known that someone his whole life, that’s just how his heart thrums. Maybe this is why it hurts so bad when people leave. 

The nest of embers beneath their fire shows no sign of surrender, but Wooyoung can guess that this tree’s parasol will no longer be glowing once morning comes. It’s the color of Hongjoong’s ball gown, the color of San’s laughter, and Wooyoung reaches out to touch one of the flowering vines, and it’s like a dream on his fingertips. 

“Honey, when are you coming to bed…,” San murmurs. 

He sounds groggy and beautiful. And his tone is joking and light, but Wooyoung’s heart still does a sloppy backflip at the invitation. 

Wooyoung can’t help but think about what it would be like falling asleep next to San every night, and waking up next to San every day. Even though he kind of already does, when they travel to and from Crescent.

Wooyoung thinks about what almost happened between them on the attic floor. He wants to kiss San underneath the stars. 

On a rounded plant that resembles a water lily leaf, Wooyoung and San set their glasses down. Wooyoung gets cuddled up on their quilt with a satisfied coo, and San’s body is so warm underneath the covers. 

“This is our first time spending the night here… wonder what’ll happen?” Wooyoung whispers. 

San rotates off his back and onto his side, so that he’s facing Wooyoung. “True… I wonder, too.”

“Maybe we won’t be able to go back?” Wooyoung considers. 

“I hope we’ll be able to go back…,” San says. 

Wooyoung scans San’s face with care. “…You okay…?”

San looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. 

“Hey… do I feel real to you?” Wooyoung wonders aloud, rubbing a thumb on San’s cheek, his peach fuzz all toasted and flushed by the dying campfire. 

San’s eyes could take Wooyoung to yet another realm, to a place where everything might finally make sense. 

“…I don’t know,” San finally answers, atop a shaky breath, “this is crazy, we’re in a place that doesn’t exist.”

And he looks a bit sad. Wooyoung massages San’s cheek some more, runs a gentle hand through San’s hair, and San allows Wooyoung to use his chest as a pillow. 

“It’s okay Sannie, I won’t leave you….”

As soon as San starts kneading swirls and shapes like stars on Wooyoung’s back, Wooyoung is falling asleep fast, and he grumbles, soft; he hasn’t gotten the chance to say goodnight to everyone yet. 

“…Sannie…?”

“…Hmm?”

And Wooyoung’s thoughts never reach completion, his words are swept away by a cruel tempest. “…Does the hourglass… does the hourglass….”

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The morning brings muted colors and birdsongs. 

Wooyoung wakes up disoriented, held snug and secure in strong arms, and upset that he still hasn’t kissed his incontestable crush. He really is such a hypocrite for judging Prince Seonghwa’s courting tactics. 

“ _Sannie_ …,” is the first thing that comes tumbling out of Wooyoung’s mouth, scratching love marks at the back of his throat. 

And San is moaning in response, and rubbing sleepy patterns on Wooyoung’s back again, almost as if he had never stopped. 

“…Can I… kiss… kiss these pretty spots on your neck…?” Wooyoung garbles. 

San tenses for a moment at the request and the ice-cold touch. But Wooyoung feels San nodding soon enough, along with the vibrations of his murmur _yes._

Still heavy-eyed, Wooyoung traces a wandering finger on San’s collarbone, peeking out from his cardigan and oxford button-down. He then presses his lips onto the patch of pixie dust on San’s neck, and it’s kind of a lot more sensual than he thought it would be. Wooyoung stamps his lips down once more, and then twice more, and he’s on cloud fucking nine. 

“…Y-You think they’re… not… weird…?” San says, and Wooyoung can’t tell the difference between San’s heartbeat and his own. 

“Weird? No, never,” Wooyoung frowns. “They’re pretty, like you’re a painting. You’re like living, breathing art. I keep thinking that an enchanted paintbrush must’ve touched your cheekbones.”

“Are you always this sappy in the morning,” San questions, studying Wooyoung’s face. 

Wooyoung gives him a pale grin. “I don’t know. We could find out tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after-”

“ _Wooyoung…_ ,” San whines, “…don’t make me feel these things.” 

“What things,” Wooyoung asks. 

And instead of coming off witty, or comical, he sounds rather reserved. 

“ _Wooyoung_ …,” Yunho and Mingi grouch in unison. 

Lifting himself up onto his elbows, Wooyoung looks over at the knights to see their blankets kicked away and long limbs in a tangle.

“You’re louder than the palace’s trumpets at dawn,” a befuddled Prince Yeosang adds. He does not sound like a morning person. 

Strange. Wooyoung could’ve sworn that he was whispering. 

“I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” 

Near the trunk of the Wisteria-like tree is a duet of apologies spouting from Hongjoong and Prince Seonghwa, one of them seemingly rolled halfway on top of the other by accident, their hair sticking out at random. 

Prince Yeosang’s head is on Jongho’s shoulder, and Wooyoung can imagine the prince arguing that it had just randomly landed there. 

_Damn_ , Wooyoung thinks to himself. Everybody got closer overnight. 

It’s a slow rise and breakfast, and an even slower departure from camp, but they manage to freshen up and pack their supplies away before the day grows any warmer.

And it doesn’t grow warmer at all. 

They creep further and further into unknown territory, where the winds intensify throughout the foliage. And that briny tang they were hoping to locate in the air is now the scent of their buried treasure. 

Mingi and Yunho are leading their crew the same as yesterday, and it’s maybe an undefined hour or two later when the dirt on the forest floor turns into white sand, and the sound of rushing waves competes with the adventurer’s elated shouting. 

The sand feels funny under their shoes, but they pick up their pace, weaving in and out of the thinning trees, and Wooyoung feels like he’s sprinting inside of a photograph when he first glimpses the aquamarine waters; he’s sailing through only a depiction of the sight before him. 

The woodlands spill out into a cyan cove. It’s cradled in age-old rock and the sky comes into full view, covered in a thick overlay of puffy popcorn clouds. 

Thunderstruck in the most delighted way possible, the eight of them don’t stop. They race out to the shoreline, the ocean’s gale chilly on their ears and noses, but their laughter sounds like healing. 

Wooyoung bends down to touch the transparent waters as soon as he’s within reach, and he splashes San, who shrieks and splashes back. The others don’t hesitate in the slightest at following suit, even the princes partake in messing around and greeting the ocean in the only way Wooyoung and San know how. 

“The coast is a greater distance away than I remember…,” Prince Yeosang comments under winded breath, but Wooyoung happens to catch it. 

“Wait- you’ve been out this far before?” Wooyoung asks him, finding his footing and leaning into San who’s still a giddy mess. 

Prince Yeosang looks at Wooyoung, and back out and around at the seaside cliffs. “For some reason, I think I have….”

Their celebration is short-lived.

They’re panting now, regaining their breath on the beach, staring out at the ocean in silence. It’s blustery, really an uncomfortable bite in the air, and they stand spellbound by the temperature drop. Wooyoung peers up and takes note of the fast-moving clouds. 

When Prince Seonghwa glances at Hongjoong, a tiny noise of concern leaves his lips, and his voice comes out shy, but sure. 

“Darling, are you cold?”

Everyone’s eyes are bulging. Hongjoong gawks and he looks like he wants to fling himself into the nonexistent sun. 

Prince Seonghwa strips off his luxe traveler’s coat, his poet blouse rippling in the breeze, and he places the thicker material around Hongjoong’s shoulders. Hongjoong is small and red. 

“Oh my fucking goodness… do you hear that?” Prince Yeosang says in sudden wariness. 

Wooyoung folds his arms in and around himself. He stares down at a shell by his waterlogged loafers and watches the tide surge and bubble around his ankles, and he hears what Prince Yeosang must be alluding to; the faint sound of Jongho’s voice bogged down in the ocean. 

All eight of them exchange looks of vigilance. 

Knowing that this sea may lead to nowhere gives Wooyoung chills. Aren’t there invisible barriers within fictional worlds? If Crescent Kingdom is the extent of what the unnamed author wrote, does anything lie beyond this foggy horizon? 

“A boat!” Hongjoong squeaks. 

He’s pointing out at the far end of the cove, at a structure now coming into view. 

Wooyoung, San, Hongjoong, Prince Seonghwa, Prince Yeosang, Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho remain motionless, letting the tide do the talking for them. In the distance, a ship floats slowly and closer, with towering masts, its shrouds like stern crochet or lacework. The sails on board are all blackened. 

It’s an unspoken plan of action to go to the boat. The boat that is hopefully empty and not occupied by dangerous sea rovers. Wooyoung is thinking that the vessel might be able to transport them closer to where Jongho’s voice is, and he’s certain that everyone else is supposing along the same lines. 

Pan takes one look at the water and decides to stay on shore. Yunho proposes that they leave behind their coats and warmer articles of clothing so that they’ll have something dry to return to. So they do just that, and after Prince Seonghwa gives Pan a head pat, their group wades out into the frigid cove. The water is crystal clear, scattered in the sand are pebbles of candy colors.

Their bodies are fully submerged by the time they’re bobbing in the shadow of the mighty ship, and they swim up to the starboard where they find netting that’s sturdy enough for them to climb.

As if being cold wasn’t already unpleasant enough, now they’re soaked through and through, shivering on the main deck, but they’re alive and they’re still together and they’re one step closer to Jongho’s voice. Wooyoung flops down and collapses onto his back, breathing heavily, remembering how Hongjoong had thought that he and San were pirates when they first met. This almost feels like and looks like the vessel in Wooyoung’s dream, where he and someone with flaxen hair wore crowns as white as the clouds. 

The boat is deserted, but it definitely appears to have been in use at some point. A dampened map is stuck to the floorboards near Wooyoung’s head, written in the indiscernible language. 

“It’s a map of Crescent,” Mingi says as he kneels down by Wooyoung, his clothes dripping like rain off an awning. 

Although the labels on the map are beyond his comprehension, Wooyoung can see that his understanding of the kingdom has been extremely wrong, thoroughly jumbled; the village, the forests, the palace… nothing looks right. 

And there are two fortresses. Two illustrations of castles on this map. One north, and one south. Is this a map of Crescent Kingdom before the two royal families made peace?

Mingi reads aloud the large script at the top of the map. 

“… _U-to-pia_ ….”

Wooyoung puzzles over the word but only for a moment, because he sees Prince Yeosang out of the corner of his eye, his chest swaying while he solemnly observes an item in his hands. 

It looks to be an old bow of a swashbuckler’s fiddle, but it’s broken, and it’s missing its strings.

  
  


“ _Do you ever feel like you were born with something missing inside_ ….”

  
  


“Woo, look at this!”

Mingi is now wielding a weathered sword that he picked up from the floor, appearing as though he had just finished pulling it out of a stone. The knight looks handsome with it, and lionhearted. Wooyoung has never seen such a striking sword up close like this, and it is such a standard object for this setting, but still, for a second Wooyoung is reminded that he really is in a different time and place. 

Closeby, Prince Seonghwa seems to have found a piece of jewelry, more precisely a ring, and he’s rotating it between gentle fingertips. San is next to him holding a magnifying glass with an eroded handle, and he turns towards Wooyoung, puts the magnifying glass over his right eye, and sticks his tongue out. 

Prince Seonghwa transfers the ring to San’s palm, and San proceeds to read what must be an engraving on the inside of the band. 

“It says… _‘Freedom’_ ….” 

“That sounds lucky, Prince Hwa!” San adds after he hands the ring back to the prince. “That sounds like a good sign!”

“T-Truly? Do you think so?” Prince Seonghwa falters. 

“Yeah, freedom is already yours, you just gotta accept it,” San says. 

Prince Seonghwa blinks, and he actually looks quite touched at San’s sentiment. The prince glances over at Hongjoong, who’s standing transfixed by himself. 

The item that has caught Hongjoong’s attention is an ornate hand mirror. It almost looks like a bronze medallion, or a miniature magical scepter. And Hongjoong is peering into the looking glass, deeply wounded in a way that very few might understand. 

“You know… I’m sure that if you tell him what’s on your mind, it’ll really reassure him,” San murmurs to Prince Seonghwa. 

Following a pause, Prince Seonghwa nods his head at this, and he steps over towards the pauper without letting any more time pass them by.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong pulls his eyes away from his reflection in the mirror, and he peeks up at Prince Seonghwa, the tears streaming down his face intermingling with the droplets of saltwater on his eyelashes. 

Gingerly, Prince Seonghwa takes Hongjoong’s empty hand in both of his own, and he holds it like it’s precious, and he can’t seem to find anything more to say, for the time being. 

It’s a really tender scene, but all Wooyoung can frankly do in this moment is admire how encouraging and selfless San is. San really is amazing. Wooyoung wants to be more like San. 

Hoisting himself up to his feet, Wooyoung, a tad lightheaded, strides over to San. He grabs hold of San’s hand and grins in his face. 

San smirks back at him. “What?”

“You’re special,” Wooyoung says. 

San just snorts. “Thank… you…?”

Their smiles grow with one another, and San nudges Wooyoung with his elbow, but doesn’t let go of Wooyoung’s hand. 

“Wooyoung, we’re on a pirate ship,” San murmurs. 

Both of their laughter is kind of delirious and Wooyoung doesn’t know what to do with this energy in his body right now so he flings his arms around the back of San’s neck. And to Wooyoung’s delight, San places his arms around his waist, his fingers sinking into Wooyoung’s sopping clothes, a flurry of wind sweeping through their hair. 

They search in each other’s eyes. 

  
  


_What if you stayed here with me. What if you stayed here with me._

  
  


While they’re still embracing, a piece of parchment blows over in the ocean’s draft and gets caught on the side of Wooyoung’s foot. 

He squats down to pick it up, and it’s a page of old sheet music, for a song called _Youth of yore_. 

It’s an instrumental, no lyrics belonging to it. 

Wooyoung furrows his brow at the title that he is able to read, and he looks up from the parchment to see Jongho nearby, staring down at a decapitated skull near his feet. Jongho gulps, looking somewhat pale, and Wooyoung convinces himself straightaway that it’s just a prop, certainly not a real skull or anything like that. Standing by Jongho’s side is Yunho, and the knight is carrying a flag ripped in two, barely held together, the emblem on it indecipherable. 

A staggering gasp from the sea startles all of them on board the vessel. 

And although the sound leaves them frozen in place for a split second, their legs somehow move of their own accord and the eight of them dash to peer over the railing.

Pulse accelerated, Wooyoung scrutinizes the sloshing waters below, where Jongho’s stolen voice is singing garbled excerpts from his sonnets. 

  
  


_“…O dazzling dancers, dazzling light…”_

_“…In rooms missing memories kept at sea…”_

_“…Here where treasures are concealed in plain sight…”_

_“…A home where no mortal would wish to flee…”_

_“…And will there be freedom or lack thereof?”_

_“…And will there be freedom or lack thereof?”_

_“…And will there be freedom or lack thereof…”_

_“…Where we will meet our choice at darkness’s gate…”_

_“…O please Lost One, remember who you are…”_

_“…Precious and borrowed from a realm afar…”_

  
  


It definitely sounds like Jongho’s voice is here in this very spot alongside the ship, there’s a throbbing light coming from below the rippling surface. The light looks caught on something, it’s maybe not that deep down in the water. 

“I will go down to retrieve it!” Prince Yeosang announces. 

They all look at him like he’s insane. 

“Are you sure, your highness?” Mingi questions, worried. “I myself, or Sir Yunho, would be glad to do it instead.” 

“No, I need to do this,” Prince Yeosang says with finality, and he’s already climbing up onto the railing of the ship, which has Prince Seonghwa warbling in noises of great concern. 

In one fluid motion, Prince Yeosang dives into the ocean to rescue the voice that the King cast away, his trim body creating a streamline splash in the indigo blue. 

The chanting little bulb of light brightens, and Wooyoung now sees thousands, _hundreds_ of thousands of jellyfish illuminating to the sound of Jongho’s misplaced prophecies, their heads as round as globes. They float like ghosts in a forest of dense seaweed ribbons, and the spot that Prince Yeosang plunged into has turned a jet black. 

The crew on deck leans over the side of the ship, shouting unintelligibly at the ocean, praying aloud for the prince’s success and safety. 

When Jongho’s drowned singing suddenly stops a minute later, Prince Yeosang’s head resurfaces, and he’s gulping for air. 

Yunho and Mingi come out of nowhere with a rope, and the rest of them help throw it out to the prince. He doesn’t have anything in his hands, so he grasps on with ease. 

While they pull him up, Wooyoung thinks about how really anticlimactic this all was. Prince Yeosang didn’t have to fistfight a merperson or disentangle himself from the death grip of a poisonous octopus. They didn’t even need to voyage that far or deep in order to find what they were looking for. 

Prince Yeosang is mazed and visibly tired as their group hauls his drenched form back over the ledge and onto the deck, and everyone is praising him as soon as he’s sprawled out on his back, asking him a million questions and he ignores each and every one. He waves off their gratitude as if it’s unnecessary. 

“…Anything… anything for Jongho’s voice…. Jongho, who tried to set us free….”

Wooyoung finds that remark interesting, but he doesn’t have time to process it as they all continue to dote on their daring soldier in a dogpile of quivering bodies, relief, and camaraderie. 

“Where is it, where’s Jongho’s voice?” an anxious Yunho asks. 

“I swallowed it,” Prince Yeosang answers under a heavy exhale. 

Wooyoung grimaces. “You _what?_ ”

Prince Yeosang lets his head flop to the side, and he looks at Jongho half-lidded. “…Can I give it to you?”

Wide-eyed, Jongho nods.

And Prince Yeosang grabs Jongho’s collar and yanks him down, kissing him wholly, kissing him deep and long.

“Oh!” Prince Seonghwa wheezes. He watches intently, most likely taking notes. 

Everybody else’s response is pretty much the same and Wooyoung wants to shed a tear for how awkward and touch-starved he and all of his friends are. 

The prince and the sonneteer are breathless when their lips part, the boat’s sails in the wind seem to thrash faster and more vigorous. 

And, just as abruptly as Jongho’s voice had erupted from behind the bars of its kelp prison, a rumble of thunder resounds over the coastal region, menacing and loud like an explosion.

Wooyoung and San look to each other. 

“…We should depart… we should depart, immediately,” Jongho tells everyone, still gazing down at the prince in his arms. 

A storm is brewing, and maybe it was looming before they even arrived here, perhaps it was taking shape overnight. Something in Wooyoung’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like how dark the cloud formations have become. But San squeezes Wooyoung’s hand, and Wooyoung feels ready for whatever is next. 

After making sure that Prince Yeosang is stable and set to go, they turn their backs on the ship. They jump into the bleak sea to begin their swim to shore, which is smooth sailing, apart from when Prince Seonghwa stops momentarily along the way. 

“Prince Hwa what are you _doing?_ ” San asks, pausing his front crawl to tread water, just barely managing to choke out his words. 

“I’m saying hello to this sea turtle that was nibbling at my toe,” Prince Seonghwa replies. 

San splashes him. “Okay that’s _great_ c’mon let’s keep going!” 

They’re drenched, drained, and an unfathomable kind of woozy by the time they reach the sand, but adrenaline is at their heels, and the swim back was speedier at least, almost as though the current was coaxing them to return to their rightful place. 

But their clothes and shoes that they left behind are nowhere to be found on the beach. There’s a lot of bewildered cursing, and trembling, as they’re all out of breath. 

Pan, however, comes galloping out from the woods with a _meow_ , his long black fur flowing, looking like he had a fucking fantastic time being dry and eating berries in the woods. 

“Pan’s dragon form isn’t big enough for all of us to ride on, but m-maybe he could take Prince Yeosang and one other, Jongho perhaps, back to the castle?” Hongjoong offers. 

“No,” Prince Yeosang declines, “we remain together as a team. I will be fine.”

Pan shifts into his dragon anyhow, because the cat isn’t very fond of the rain that’s now drizzling down from the gloomy blanket hanging above. 

Wooyoung’s mind is racing a mile a minute, all he knows is that they need to make their way back now, or towards some sort of shelter that’ll protect them from the sky’s growling. 

Their re-entry into the woodlands is spectral, and they stick close together, moving in time with nothing but the sound of their sniffling from the wet cold, raindrops on withered flowers, and the threatening thunder. They are slow-footed. The forest is dusky, genuinely sunless.

Pan has been snorting fire to help brighten their path; molten lava in the dim light. And Wooyoung is kind of too scared, and too frozen stiff to say so, but he does not like what he is seeing in the shadows every time the dragon’s breath flickers across the dark. 

They keep going with no real plan at this point, doing all that they can to keep lucid, but Pan’s dwindling glow isn’t helping them move any faster. 

Somewhere to his left, Wooyoung hears Hongjoong snuffle quietly. 

“Pan…? H-Hey, Pan, my good boy, light the way, please….”

It’s dark, it’s really dark and Wooyoung is confused, all of a sudden. Because even with the storm, and the shade of the woods, there should be no explanation for why it’s midnight already. They woke up to greet the day not too long ago, didn’t they? How long were they on the abandoned ship? Wooyoung’s arm is looped in San’s, he can still feel everybody’s presence surrounding him, but in an instant, Wooyoung is losing confidence in everything. 

“My eyes… my eyes there’s something wrong with my eyes?”

He halts in his tracks, and he feels those who are around him stop too. Pan is gone, his light is utterly gone. 

Sometimes, when Wooyoung closes his eyes, he can see a diluted red, inverted scribbles on crumpled paper, television static, imprints of the real world. It’s never black to the core. It’s never like this, like black paint, glazing over his mind. 

“I want to go home I want to go home,” someone starts crying. 

Wooyoung hears whimpering, sounds orchestrated by raw dismay. 

The forest is sunless, moonless, unnerving, pitch black, bitter cold, his vision is lost. 

The eight missing adventurers hold onto each other in fear of everything they cannot see. The ground feels horrifying and exposing under Wooyoung’s bare feet. Wooyoung is afraid of everything, he’s afraid of everything and _everything_ is in this dark nothingness. All he wants is to cling on to the things that make him feel alive, the things that make him feel like light is on his side. He could cry, he could scream if the darkness takes this all away from him. 

A sob tears through Wooyoung’s chest. 

“ _H-Hongjoongie_ … _Prince Hwa_ …,” he gasps, “… _Prince Y-Yeo_ … _Jongho_ … _Mingi_ … _Yunho_ … _San_ ….”

He squeezes his eyes shut, he shudders and curls his chin in towards his chest, and he cries with everyone else.

Until the fireworks boom above the treetops and over the castle turrets, in a devastating rainbow of shattered glass. Tremendous fireworks, that blossom and fall to pieces and silence them.

Numb, jaw slacken, Wooyoung raises up dampened eyes to the festival in the sky.

The fireworks display is quick like a mistake, and the broken necklace of colors is replaced by a heavy downpour. 

They are suddenly back in town, so soon they’re at the edge of the forest that grazes the side of the royal fortress, and it’s a gut-churning and downright strange realization, because it initially took them more than a full day to get to the sea. 

When they break loose from the trance of the startling show, they run through the rainstorm and into the grey courtyard in front of the palace, and Wooyoung notices right away that there’s no one around. The neighboring village looks grim, the castle itself is uninhabited, forsaken, there are no candles in the windows. It’s a battleground with no corpses. 

All of them are panting, soaked to the bone, stumped and halted yet again with seemingly nowhere to go to. Wooyoung’s sweater vest is sloping off his shoulder, his glasses spattered from the torrent. San’s clothes are stuck to his skin, and the rain in his fringe is dripping onto his lips. 

Wooyoung peers around at his companions. Everyone looks so real, and so sad. 

They no longer try to seek a safe haven. They just stand there, chests heaving. 

  
  


… _In the downpour at the Crescent Crossroad_ …. 

  
  


A crash of thunder booms from up above, and they see a man, a masked man, standing there in the square at the fore of the building with the clocktower. He’s dressed in royal regalia, white the same as a lily. His head is swathed and his mask is a trap of silver chainwork and thorns, and it’s as if the rain doesn’t touch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO ATEEZ COMEBACK BRB CRYING FOREVER @ HONG’S BLUE JUMPSUIT
> 
> thank you guys soooooo much for reading!! 😭❤️ each chapter it dawns on me how much fun I’m having with this story and I have adored hearing your guys’ thoughts and I’m emotional and WHY AM I ACTING LIKE THIS IS THE END. ITS NOT THE END YET LOL 😭😭
> 
> and ok so I know we’ve been calling irl hongjoong a coconut/mushroom with his hair rn but I still wanna give credit to katie for woo calling hong a mushroom spirit 🥺 she often calls me a little mushie and I implode and then sob myself to sleep every time so I stole that from her lol teehee 
> 
> that turtle reference was for my atinyville pals on twt who interacted with that dumb tweet that I tweeted lmao hi ily 🐢
> 
> TYSM again!!! see u guys next time!!! ⛈⏳🎇
> 
> if you’re reading this right now, I want you to know that you’re spectacular and everything’s going to be ok 💖💖💖
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	7. The Crescent Crossroad

The ocean’s draft is a dreadful lingering. Their bones tremble and their eyes ache from fright as the sky dumps false epiphanies on them. The familiar courtyard that they’re hovering in looks like a very contradictory place, somehow. The iridescent colors are stripped and discarded, the dwellings are devoid of all life. 

It feels as though they’re still catching their breath from their swim. Wooyoung can’t begin to imagine what must’ve happened to the bright dreamscape of this kingdom while they were lost at sea, rescuing Jongho’s voice. 

Is this the same castle that they’ve danced in? Or just a dark copy. 

Standing before the eight of them now is a sudden and unexpected guest, and seemingly the only other person residing here.

His suit is white like the moon, and it isn’t very embellished compared to the clothing that everybody else from this realm can be seen wearing. The cage on his face however is an abomination, rejecting the very need for air to breathe. He’s not close enough to reach out and touch, or to approach in a stride or two, but he’s still visible, a startling starkness in the midst of the heavy rain. 

“Ew who the _fuck_ is that?” Wooyoung grimaces. 

“That’s the King,” Prince Yeosang says. 

Wooyoung blinks past the water running down his forehead. “Oh fuck, sorry.” 

Wooyoung blinks once more, and the unconventional King disappears. 

“Oh what the _shit_ where’d he go?” Wooyoung asks, jerking around. If the spooky motherfucker is right behind him he will not be happy about it. 

But the King is gone indeed, nowhere to be found, just the same as he has been for the entire story, and Wooyoung’s crew proceeds to shout above the sound of the storm, confused as to why everything is falling to shit. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be harmony between good and evil?” San whines as he’s holding onto himself. 

“Yeah, which one of you had the family who was evil?” Wooyoung chimes in, posing his question to the two princes that stand side by side, drenched and no mightier than any of their companions. 

“Good and evil…?” Prince Seonghwa says, dazed. 

“…Family…?” is Prince Yeosang’s response, and he’s equally as stupefied. 

“Wooyoung, we need to go now…,” San urges, keeping his voice low. “We could all go… together…,” he adds cautiously, turning to everyone else. 

“Go where? I’m scared…,” Hongjoong says. 

The knights look stumped and frozen stiff, Jongho appears to be a combination of pensive and entirely given up. 

“If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss our chance, just like all of them did,” San tells Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung pinches his brows in, and it’s as if he hardly has the energy to speak back, he genuinely doesn’t know if he’ll be able to pry himself from this exact spot. He may remain in this torrential downpour for the rest of his miserable days. 

“Sannie don’t ruin this for me,” Wooyoung mutters. His vocals feel foreign, like an undiscovered facet of himself. 

“Ruin… this… for you…? Right, okay,” San says, humorless. 

Wooyoung searches for San amongst a slew of droplets spattering the lenses of his glasses. “We just need to snap out of it, and- and get indoors, and figure out what h-happened, and-” 

“And what happens next, we sit down for tea with the Mad Hatter?” San scoffs. 

It’s not like Wooyoung hasn’t noticed the way San glances at him, the more and more they get addicted to coming here, the more Wooyoung gets attached to Hongjoong and all of their friends; the more Wooyoung has felt the need to satisfy this addiction, despite what reality says about it. 

“Shut up, Sannie…,” Wooyoung grumbles, and he hates it, he hates how this feels. Conflict, confrontation. He hears San take in a sharp breath. 

“Why would anybody want to stay here? There’s scary magic that’s out of our control,” San says.

“So long as there’s ‘scary’ magic, there’s good magic, too!” Wooyoung argues. 

“The food doesn’t taste like anything here, there are walls around the entire kingdom, there’s nowhere to go,” San continues, ignoring Wooyoung’s reasoning, “it’s clearly a dream that’s not meant to last, it’s an illusion, nothing feels real here.” 

“Even the map on the boat mentioned Utopia?” Wooyoung says. “I think Crescent is meant to be an ideal place.” 

“Um, not at us sobbing in the forest a few minutes ago?” San scowls. 

Wooyoung stares at him. “Maybe that was just a test or something! We made it out of the darkness, the fireworks were the celebration, and now we get to build this kingdom back up and give it light again.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Wooyoung?” San says. 

It’s an uncomfortable silence that follows. All eight of them continue to stand immobilized beneath the cloudburst. 

“…You don’t have to be such a _bitch_ about it,” Wooyoung snarls. And again, he despises his own tongue. He hates how uncomfortable he’s making everyone. 

If San is deeply hurt by this, he’s only showing about half of that depth. 

San’s jaw is stern, and he swallows thickly. “…Whether I’m wrong or right, I refuse to believe that this fake-ass place is meant to be _anything_ but dark. When I look at the hourglass, I see my worst fear. But I keep coming here with you, because I know you like it here….”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me you didn’t want to be here,” Wooyoung utters, his tone as flat as the dampened fringe stuck to his face.

San falters as he sighs. “It’s not that I _haven’t_ wanted to, but at this point it’s just-”

“You’re always joking around, you seem happy,” Wooyoung accuses. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t lying or faking it or anything, I use humor to cope or something, I don’t know,” San says in a small voice. 

Wooyoung wets his lips. “What’s so wrong with living in a dream, then? Dreaming is coping. I don’t want to feel anything real. I like everyone here, Hongjoongie, Prince Hwa, Prince Yeo, Jongho, Mingi and Yunho, they feel real to me.”

“You two brought us all together…,” Yunho speaks up, gentle. He’s hunched over a bit, leaning into Mingi’s sopping embrace. 

They look to the knight for a brief moment, and Wooyoung’s bitter blinded eyes meet San’s sorrowful ones once more. 

“Am I not real enough for you?” San asks, and he sounds nervous; meek. 

“I’m scared,” Wooyoung blurts in response, “scared of the world…. I’m too fragile for it. I was meant to be somewhere else… somewhere uncomplicated like this. It’s almost like we’ve been chosen to be here?”

“Uncomplicated…? Seems extremely complicated here to me,” San mutters. 

“You know what I mean, Sannie,” Wooyoung retorts.

“No, I don’t,” San says without pause. “Do you not see how capable and strong you are? How you make the world a better place…? Don’t pass yourself off as purposeless. The world needs someone like you, Wooyoung, and I need you too… and I hope you know what I mean by that.”

San and Wooyoung glower at one another, chests swaying under pained breath. 

“It hurts… I don’t want to know I don’t want to know,” Wooyoung murmurs, and he senses a fresh onslaught of agony threatening at his tear ducts. 

“Don’t you want to be with your Halmeoni…?” San asks him carefully. 

“I do I do I just- I- I wish that time would _stop,_ ” Wooyoung groans. 

San sighs, exasperated. “We all want that, Woo-”

“I don’t want to watch her die!” Wooyoung screams. 

His cry echoes through the somber courtyard, and he wishes this rain could wash it all away. 

It’s a long minute that holds them all captive. 

“…I’m sorry Woo, I really am, but you’d rather abandon her instead…?” San says, even more gentle than before. 

“I’m breaking up with you!” Wooyoung yells. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. 

San is agape, he looks shocked, flabbergasted. “Y-You’re so dramatic and hurtful and _confusing!_ ”

“You’re annoying!” Wooyoung says to him. “And so fucking pretty and brilliant and selfless you make my head hurt so _fucking_ bad!” 

“ _Fuck you J-Jung Wooyoung!_ ” San sobs. 

Wooyoung all but shrieks at the very top of his lungs. “ _Fuck you too!_ ”

“…Fuck… I had a crush on you before I even knew your name…,” San whimpers, “…I love the library, and you made me love it even more.”

“…Fuck I can’t do this…,” Wooyoung whispers, shaking his head, hardly managing to swallow past the shards in his words. 

And Wooyoung isn’t able to feel the actual weight of his utterance until it’s far too late. It’s rather cruel to break things off with someone who you weren’t even involved with yet. It’s pretty intense to reject someone who you have nothing but praise for. 

Wooyoung can see it on San’s dewy face. His bottom lip is quivering; he’s squinting back his tears for only an instant before he’s crying, he’s heaving, and breaking down. 

“I-” 

San tries to speak, but he can’t. 

He takes a few steps backwards, distraught, and he doesn’t part his gaze with Wooyoung, not until he turns around and runs, and it doesn’t stop raining. 

“Oh fuck,” Wooyoung croaks regretfully. He feels his last remaining heartstrings snap as he watches San flee through the storm. 

“Wooyoung what the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you,” Prince Yeosang says. 

Wooyoung has a massive headache. He feels like he’s coming down with a cold. 

San is running away, towards the palace’s darkened doors. 

To the library. 

Wooyoung stays, and falls hard to his knees, his legs numb and a part of the cobblestone. And he can’t see San anymore. 

Maybe San would look light-footed, as delicate as the petals that fall from the hand-woven basket in the sky, as feathery as the dancer that he is, but maybe he’d feel heavy, like an age-old turret flooded by the sea. 

With flaxen hair plastered to his cheeks, he’d run and run and run until he forgets. Because as much as it’s a triumph to remember, sometimes we want to forget what has happened to us. 

The thunder would crash inside the brittle walls, spirits of an evil family patrolling the corridors, and San would only feel brave on his own because he has no choice not to be. 

He’d fly into his storybook library, alabaster isolated, and he would reach the hourglass and his worst fear, for one last time. He’d go home to the complicated world. 

Unhurried, the clouds begin to part over Wooyoung, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho’s crowns. Their misty eyes bore into the stronghold in a shattered silence. 

Wooyoung is fine at making friends. And somehow even better at not being able to keep them. 

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There’s a boy and his books.

San wouldn’t dare steal a glimpse at him, definitely wouldn’t approach him or speak to him at university, or if he happened upon him in a café, or if he saw him in the park on the lakeside. 

But in the library, his home away from home, San feels confident enough to look at him. He has hair like dark chocolate, bold-framed glasses, and he dresses smartly. This person looks at home in the library, San feels akin to him without even knowing his name or his story. 

He’s here most every day. He’s right here by San’s side every day, but now he’s not. 

It’s the motley book spines that are San’s only friends. Always have been.

San doesn’t understand his own personality.

He even told Wooyoung that, when they first legitimately met; when Wooyoung asked San which book in the library best represents him as a person.

San wonders what it must feel like to be able to understand yourself. To be understood. 

People have called him weird all his life. Nothing makes much sense anymore, but the one thing that does make a lot of sense is that Wooyoung refused him. It makes a lot of sense, so San feels absurd every time he falls asleep in tears.

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San can still sense him right here by his side. He keeps seeing shadows, friendly ghosts about Wooyoung’s height and size. 

It’s a Tuesday, or maybe a Thursday, and San spends the blustery morning hugging his cat, who, bless her little soul, allows him to do so. 

San lives in a tiny studio apartment near campus, he can reach the stoneware mug of coffee on his kitchen counter from the comfort of his bed. And San realizes that he was wrong. He has plenty of friends; his books, his cat, and all of the fallen leaves that cyclone outside his window and remind him that seasons change. 

San really liked all of the particolored plants and animals in that place. 

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San is wearing three layers of sweaters. They’re oversized, one turtleneck, two chunky knit, but the material isn’t staving off the shivers under his skin. He sits cross-legged on his bed with a textbook and lecture notes layed out in front of him. 

If Wooyoung were here, they would bake cookies, and not get any studying done.

San never got the chance to hang out with Wooyoung in the real world, outside of his safe place at least. So he’s really not sure what they would do. San has to be very careful about how his mind wanders. Is there a point in daydreaming anymore; thinking about Wooyoung’s body, or how Wooyoung’s smile felt in the crook of his neck. Is there a point in rehearsing how he’s going to tell Wooyoung about how he feels, how San really, truly feels. 

San’s life is officially deprived of all warmth. 

He puts in his earbuds to drown out the noise of the squall outside, and he listens to a sweeping orchestra that somehow sounds frigid. He tries his best to dissociate the violin and the piano from the people of his memories, although he never did receive any opportunities to hear Wooyoung play the piano. But the recollection of a certain prince, with bow held high to his violin, is still just as crisp as yesterday. The warmth by the campfire, the freedom in their sheepish laughter….

San starts seeing seafaring imagery everywhere he goes. He sees a pirate ship on his wall.

He sees the crystal footprint of the ocean waves when he washes his hands, and it’s so cold, growing colder and colder by the day.

The clouds are dense. He wouldn’t be able to carve past them on his own.

He feels stuck, back in the icy clutch of the jellyfish cove. 

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San would love to sleep it off and wake up to a new day, but disturbing dreams are making this an impossible hope. Maybe, for all one knows, _The Octarchy Princes_ was just a dream. Wooyoung was only a dream.

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San does not listen to the vinyl record. But he still comes up to the attic, and he has written messages in the blank pages of the hardback copy of the story. When he’s on shift at the library, when he feels the tears crawling up his throat and prickling behind his eyes, he’ll rush outside into the ebbing autumn to gasp for air, or he’ll go up to the attic because he will not be the type of person who ignores pain. 

The book has no author, no date of publication, no side note about why the fuck magic would even be real.

Maybe the pitiful little messages that he scratches in ink will find their way to Wooyoung inside of Crescent Kingdom. San knows that it probably won’t work, he feels like he really is giving up on the book, he’s defiling it. Would he even be allowed to go back to that place if he tried? He won’t go back, and Wooyoung isn’t coming back either. 

At closing time each night, San’s father has been asking him what’s wrong, and San just repeats himself; says that he’s feeling under the weather. It’s not an easy thing to talk to parents about magical realms and mental illness. 

But it’s on an unusually bright day when San’s limbs don’t feel as heavy for some reason. 

He decides to rage clean the attic. It’s not as overcast today. It’s still cold though, cold enough to snow even. 

It’s on this afternoon when San finds the diary that confirms his lonely suspicions. 

It’s a saddle stitch bound notebook that falls from the top of a bookcase while San is dusting too intensely. He knocks down a few haphazard novels along with it, trying to reach for the top blind. 

With a huff, he bends down to collect the mess, and the black cover of this notebook is what catches San’s attention. It has a sloppy, almost frantic etching on the front, as if someone carved the surface with a knife. The engraving forms the image of a skull and crossbones, with a border around it like a pirate’s flag. 

San stares at the diary in his hands, thinking for a second that maybe he’s hallucinating again and only imagining the markings on the front, but when he skims his fingertips across the trails, it feels as real as it gets. 

Slowly, he opens it, and on the first page is an entry from a year ago, in handwriting that he swears he has seen before.

  
  


_2018 November 17_

_I have just returned from a scientifically impossible experience_

  
  


Stunned, scarcely breathing, San turns the page and reads on. 

  
  


_2018 November 19_

_I don’t trust the ‘King’_

  
  


_2018 November 30_

_There’s a guy_

_He’s a prince_

_I think he knows who I am because I’ve gotten to perform quite a few times_

_This is the first time that I’ve ever had crowds surround me to listen to my voice_

_and I saw him watching from out of his tower_

_Also, time doesn’t pass while I’m away_

_This is the first time in a very long time that I feel excited to wake up every morning_

_I don’t stay in bed all day anymore_

_And I’m eating more healthily now_

  
  


_2018 December 3_

_I’ve just never seen anyone like him and I hope he likes my songs_

  
  


_2018 December 4_

_There was a boy fallen in the road today_

_He was delivering some sort of clothing to dissatisfied clients_

_A man and a woman were screaming at him_

_A few others spit on him_

_Throwing the fabric at him as to cover him up and silence him_

_Telling him that he couldn’t sew in a straight line_

_I tried my best to help him up and befriend him_

  
  


_2018 December 8_

_When I think too deeply about what I’m doing_

_and where I’m going_

_I get scared_

_I don’t know if I have been sleeping_

_I can’t even remember yesterday_

  
  


_2018 December 14_

_I go most every day now_

_Even though I see a skull sitting in the sand of the hourglass_

  
  


_2018 December 30_

_I don’t think I can be here anymore_

  
  


And that was the final entry. 

San reserves the time to cry his damn eyes out. 

He misses everyone. He misses them so fucking much. He misses Jongho, Prince Yeosang, Mingi, Yunho, Prince Seonghwa, Hongjoong, Wooyoung. He remembers how Hongjoong had been crying all alone, when he and Wooyoung first met the pauper in the twinkling woods. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck this enchantment is, he can’t even understand how anything is possible in reality, so how is he supposed to understand what cannot be explained? He’s impossibly infuriated at the magic for luring everybody astray, for taking his friends’ lives away. 

San catches his breath, and rubs at his eyes. He looks up and out of the dusty attic window glowing in midafternoon light, just wide enough for something small and winged to escape out of. 

And it takes him a solid five minutes, ten minutes, maybe an hour or two, an undefined amount of time in the forest of his consciousness, until he rises on wobbly legs. He drifts over to the corner in darkness, the fissure in a broken clock, that bears the antiqued record player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOYOUNG WHAT THE FUCK. sannie go back to fairyland now? 🥺 weh :(
> 
> hey guys lmao 🥲 thank you so much for reading the Short & Sad chapter 
> 
> BUT GOOD NEWS TO MAKE UP FOR IT I HOPE?! we have 9 chapters now?! sweet & spicy bonus content, anyone??? 👀 and I’m hoping to make it a double update!! my goal is to have both chapter 8 & bonus chapter 9 uploaded at the same time! 💖💖
> 
> and without getting too personal, at this point in I do wanna say that this (especially this chapter) is kinda like a commentary on addiction, or me attempting to portray how addiction can feel??? wanted to touch on what it felt like from my perspective and for those who were trying to help me ❤️
> 
> hope I’ll be able to answer (some) of your guys’ questions as we wrap up this adventure hehehe 👀💞
> 
> thanks as always for your time, patience, encouragement, and positivity!!!! 😭🥰😭🥰
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	8. The Octarchy Princes

“ _This is the tale of the Masked Man and the Hourglass._

_What shall you choose_

_when the desire to change_

_and the desire to remain_

_are one and the same._

_Which half of the hourglass is filled with shifting sands._

_What if they could destroy their fears with their own two hands_ ….”

  
  


San is furious, frightened, and sore, but it was an easy enough decision to listen to the vinyl record, for one last time. He does, he plays it, and he lies himself down on the attic floor on his lonesome. He heeds the crinkled forewarning, and his swollen eyelids finally close. 

He wakes up in the meadow that reminds him of Wooyoung and Wooyoung only. 

It’s daytime in Crescent Kingdom, and as he begins careering through the forest with urgency, San notices that there’s something even in the trees that now feels deserted. The plants aren’t singing, the animals and insects are spirited away. 

The weather here is back to normal, however; it’s that familiar and comfortable warm that welcomes San back while he treks these woodlands. He would be lying to himself though if he said he wasn’t scared walking through here on his own. It was the most terrifying cold the last time San was in this forest, the darkest twilight his body had ever been submerged in. He could hear everyone’s voices, but he couldn’t feel them or see them by his side. He doesn’t remember too much from that stormy night, it’s as if he blocked most of it out of his mind. San thinks that it’s pretty amazing how the brain has an ability to forget unwanted memories. 

San spots the picturesque fortress above the treetops, pennon flags rippling in the air that’s so balmy. The foliage thins until he finds himself in town, and there is still no one here, not a single living being besides himself, a tumbleweed could roll by and it would be absolutely appropriate for the scenery before San’s eyes. 

A jolt of panic tears through his chest. What if the others have disappeared along with all of the storybook citizens? What if he’s too late? San doesn’t squander in the courtyard, he climbs up the regal staircase that leads to open gates and an entrance with no defenders.

Gingerly, he steps into the palace, where he hears a lullaby worn and tinted yellow by the sun.

After finding Jongho’s diary, San can safely assume that Jongho, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, and Yunho are real people from the real world, just like he and Wooyoung. San more or less suspected it ever since their first grand ball. The nameless characters of the story have felt like cardboard cutouts this whole time. That very first evening dancing through the ballroom’s glitz felt sleepy and surreal, only eight of them in a room of hundreds felt basked in soul-glinting spotlights. And the fact that they’re all guys around the same age, too…. Maybe they were all lured here for separate reasons that are more similar than they have yet to realize. 

San follows the voice that’s bouncing off of the vacated walls, and instant relief alleviates the hot coal in his throat. They are alive, they’re still here. It’s Jongho’s vocals, along with a note or two from Prince Seonghwa, who also has a very lovely singing voice. 

It takes San forever though, trying to locate the source of the duet. It’s nothing more than a ruined maze in here now. It feels like the lavish illusory passageways are playing tricks on him. 

But he eventually approaches a doorway with a ringing promise behind its barrier. San pushes open the towering double doors to find rather modest bedchambers, it’s maybe a spare room or a handmaid’s bedchambers. 

Near an alcove of plentiful daylight, Wooyoung is lying on his back on a cot. He’s tucked away under blankets, and he’s staring up at the cathedral ceiling. 

Jongho and Prince Seonghwa are seated on either side of him, their singing drowsy and halfhearted. 

Prince Yeosang is propped at the window sill, gazing out of the opening. Mingi and Hongjoong are sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other and tossing some sort of a ball back and forth. With his arms clasped behind his back, Yunho is pacing around. 

The sonneteer and the prince’s song tapers off when they detect the presence now joining them. 

And all seven of them stare at San in a wide-eyed silence.

“Welcome home, cheater,” Wooyoung coughs. 

“Oh, great, you can still remember memes, that’s a good sign at least,” San responds. 

He keeps his tone guarded. Wooyoung hurt San. He isn’t so sure how he feels, isn’t sure if he wants to or is ready to just fall back into Wooyoung’s arms. 

It’s an unfortunate discomfort drifting through the room as San and Wooyoung peer at one another; San not wanting to crumble and run over to embrace him, neither of them wanting to act like anyone was so desperately missed and grieved over. 

Nobody is moving. 

Did San hurt them by choosing to leave? He actually hadn’t thought about it that way, until right now….

Following an unnerved inhale, San does his part to keep eye contact with each person in front of him. They can’t reverse time and change how things went down. All they can do is look at each other in the here and now, and look towards their next options. San hopes that he hasn’t lost any of their trust. 

Wooyoung tugs at his covers and brings them up over his mouth and nose. He appears to be sick and bedridden.

“He’s an absolute pain in the ass when he’s ill,” Prince Yeosang tells San. 

“Hey!” is Wooyoung’s muffled protest. 

Yunho wastes no time in informing San about their journey to find a remedy for Wooyoung’s condition, a remedy that sadly did not help. Recently, the rest of them have had vague memories of being sick once too, recollections that were uncovered only after Wooyoung became ill. The six individuals by Wooyoung’s bedside recall suffering from similar symptoms at one point or another. 

“…And then I recovered, and then everything was okay. I just went about my life here,” Mingi finishes explaining from his perspective. 

San ponders this new information. The longer they stay, the more they forget the real world; the more they’re woven into the fabric of the story. Staying here for too long makes you sick, so sick that, after a while longer, you don’t even know that you’re sick anymore. 

It seems that, after you stay overnight, there’s very little opportunity to leave. Is this why the clocktower makes no sense, and why there’s no sun or moon; to deceive people into staying in Crescent? Why is there night and day here then, is it just a disguise?

“Sannie… where did you go?” Hongjoong says, apprehensive. 

“I went home,” San answers him. “To the place where we all came from.”

“That sounds creepy,” Mingi utters. 

San sighs. “Yeah it kind of is, but it’s the truth.”

“Jongho, do you remember the Choi library,” San asks the sonneteer after none of them say anything more. 

Jongho shakes his head with careful consideration. “I don’t know, but I feel like I should, somehow. Maybe because I am called Choi Jongho…?”

“You guys don’t ever remember going into the library here in the castle?” San questions further, scanning everyone’s expressions. “And you have no desire to for some reason… something kept you here. What keeps you here?” 

“People liked my singing here,” Jongho replies straight away, barely a whisper, but everyone else is so soundless, there are no birds outside, they are all able to hear him. 

San frowns. What type of dumbass bitches in the real world haven’t liked Jongho’s singing? And to the point that Jongho felt the need to hide himself away? San will not hesitate to throw hands at every single hater who hasn’t got down on their knees and admitted to Jongho that he is one of the most brilliant vocalists in the world. 

“This place is better than the hellhole known as planet earth,” Wooyoung scoffs. 

Hongjoong squirms in place. “I’m with Wooyoung, I want to stay here? I still don’t remember anything about coming from a different place….”

“I align with San,” Prince Seonghwa declares, “I believe in what he’s saying.”

Prince Seonghwa strides over to where San stands alone. San leans into the prince, and they wrap their arms around each other’s itty-bitty waists. Both Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s jaws drop in a simultaneous motion. 

“Now wait a damn minute,” Wooyoung says.

“Hongjoong, the maidens were shit-talking you…,” San says, “…and from what I’ve heard, other people here haven’t been very kind to you either….”

San is convinced that he will forever be haunted by Jongho’s diary entry referring to the day when he met Hongjoong, when he witnessed Hongjoong being harassed in the streets.

“People are gonna suck in the real world too, but you’re not alone,” San tells him. 

Hongjoong gulps, his brows knit together in uncertainty. 

San turns towards Mingi and Yunho. “You two are being awfully quiet, what about you?” 

The knights trade glances, and Yunho speaks. “I don’t know… being a knight makes me feel brave… it gives me a purpose… and this is how Mingi and I found each other.”

“I missed you, by the way,” Yunho adds, flashing puppy dog eyes at San. 

Reflexively, San tightens his embrace around Prince Seonghwa, and he feels himself blush pink. 

“I literally don’t even know what the fuck is going on anymore,” is Prince Yeosang’s contribution to the discussion. 

Confusion. A place to hide from confusion. 

“You guys found a sense of purpose here…,” San summarizes, “…Wooyoung, you found friends.”

San surveys their group with more confidence. 

“We can find all of this in the real world too, if we don’t give up and stay true to our hearts.”

“That’s corny and endearing,” Wooyoung says under his breath. 

“You need to shut the fuck up for a minute,” San snaps. “I’m still mad at you. You hurt me.”

The two of them simmer under each other’s heavy watch, Wooyoung’s jaw is locked, his lips pursed. Does Wooyoung even remember how he rejected San on that wretched night? 

San peels himself away from Prince Seonghwa’s side. His legs carry him closer to Wooyoung’s sickbed. 

“…Do you remember how the piano felt underneath your fingers? When you closed your eyes, and your hands met the keys like an old friend….”

Wooyoung says nothing to San’s regard. 

“…Don’t you want to write a story that will change the world?” San goes on. “Don’t you want to play music that’ll unearth people’s sweetest memories…?”

San takes in a shuddered breath. He doesn’t want to make any of this about his feelings. But, he does still have feelings. 

“I want to take you out for coffee sometime, Wooyoung,” San chokes out, and he attempts to blink it all away, but he starts crying. 

“…I’m sorry for fucking everything up… I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whispers to San. He sounds numb, but sincere, and his eyes are filled with tears, too. 

“The King has offered us unlimited magic, if we choose to stay…,” Yunho further informs San in a quiet voice. 

“The King can go fuck himself,” San says with a sniffle. “Who do you guys trust more… the King, or me…?”

San and Hongjoong help Wooyoung to his feet. 

He’s shivering but his body is burning and he moans as though he aches. 

The eight of them gather in a circle at the center of the room. The foundation beneath them isn’t as solid as San wants it to be, but he knows that he needs to strive for gentleness and understanding as best as he can, especially now that he’s got them this close to unanimity; he doesn’t want to scare them away. These people are under a severe spell. Getting them to leave behind their shackles is kind of a big thing. If San can at least get them to follow him to the library… he hopes that’ll land them their direct ticket home. 

Everybody takes the time to receive San’s hugs. He just wants to hug each and every one of them before they take this leap of faith towards their fears. 

And just as suddenly as they all got to know one another within the mirrored walls of this kingdom, they’re tiptoeing through the vacant stronghold together with San in the lead. 

The subdued skies that Yeosang viewed from the spare room’s open window have now turned dark. Cloud formations are pressing in on all of the glass casements throughout the corridors, and this smothering is making it murkier indoors. There’s a roar of thunder in the near distance. San acknowledges at once how their group tenses at the sound and the lack of light, so he coaxes them all into huddling closer together as they walk. They hold each other’s hands, or they hold onto each other’s arms. 

San is noticing that it’s becoming difficult to simply put one foot in front of the other, it almost feels like when you’re trying to run in a bad dream but your legs won’t move fast enough. But this ruse is only fueling San’s fire; he literally cannot wait to get his friends out of this nightmare. It’s been beautiful here on the surface, but once you’ve lost your way in the depths of the forest it’s not as glamorous. He hopes that the real world won’t disappoint them too badly. He hopes the world will show them some mercy and will make them feel like they made the right choice. He hopes that good things will happen for all of them in life, individually and together as a team. 

There’s still nothing at all distinct about the set of doors belonging to the royal library, but as soon as they round the corner, San knows in the pit of his stomach that it’s exactly the place that they’re looking for. 

And San swings the doors open to quite an unsettling scene. 

All eight of them manage to step inside just enough for the mighty doors to shut behind them with an ominous _boom_ , but littering the floors of the library are thousands of hourglasses, of all different shapes and kinds and assortments of tarnished metals. They’re scattered and piled, and crowding around the old tree stump where the original hourglass had always sat. 

Many of them are of a standard size, some are miniscule, a few of them are as long as grandfather clocks; large enough to trap a person inside. 

Apart from the startling amount of hourglasses, the rest of the pearly library is ransacked. Books have been mistreated and strewn all over the place, almost as though a beast tore through here in anguish while San and company were in the bedchambers, helping Wooyoung out of bed and embracing in reunion. 

The library’s enchantment isn’t causing any of them to lose consciousness instantly, not like San and Wooyoung grew accustomed to. And San is surprised by this too, and troubled. Are they actually stuck here? Is the gateway broken? 

Now that they’re inside these forbidden quarters of the palace, the posture of San and Wooyoung’s companions changes. 

“Oh shit… I remember…,” Hongjoong says, and he sounds lightheaded. “…I r-remember everything….”

Hongjoong begins kneading his hands together. His forehead is creased in terror, his breathing is uneven, and teardrops are already falling from his very pretty eyes. 

“I would _really_ rather stay h-here, _please_ -” 

“Please come with me?” Seonghwa says swiftly, overwrought yet firm. He takes hold of Hongjoong’s trembling hands. “I will protect you. I promise you this.” 

A long moment passes by, in which Seonghwa gazes downwards at Hongjoong in both distress and devotion. Seonghwa’s hands look warm and safe. 

Disentangling Hongjoong’s fingers from his own, Seonghwa reaches forward and thumbs away the tears from Hongjoong’s face. Hongjoong tilts his chin up ever so slightly, and squeezes his eyes shut at the affectionate brush across his skin. 

“Okay…,” Hongjoong decides after a moment more. The pauper blinks up at his prince, still frightened, but convinced, and he repeats himself with delicate breath. “…Okay.”

San peeks over at Jongho, Yunho, Mingi, and Yeosang. They all stand motionless, taking in the sight of the wicked library and its walls and walls of shaken literature. They appear introspective in their own separate respects, most likely processing everything that’s running through the film reel in their minds, but luckily none of them are showing signs of wanting to pivot and dash back out the door. 

By San’s side, Wooyoung looks fucking depressed. 

San sighs. He’s nervous, he still doesn’t know if this story is out to hurt them in a truly lethal way. He hopes not, he doesn’t trust this forged paradise but he still hopes that there is some sort of good in all of this. 

Cautiously, they wade their way around the mess. They stick close together, and the sound of everything they come in contact with echoes in the domed ceiling. 

San and Wooyoung’s hourglass is not in its usual spot on top of the stump in the alcove overlooking the kingdom. 

In its place is a tattered novel. 

San lumbers over towards the tree stump, scoops the book up, and reads its cursive title on the cover.

_“The Flaxen Librarian_ …,” he murmurs. 

Author unknown.

He turns to the first page. 

  
  


_Ambrosial fates_

_fidelity or lie_

_choosing their return to a winter sky_

  
  


And that’s all there is. San flips ahead in the story, but there are only blank pages, just like in _The Octarchy Princes._

If San isn’t mistaken, this phrase written in _The Flaxen Librarian_ is the same one that the vinyl record recited as a prologue to the very first chapter of _The Octarchy Princes._ Something about fate, and winter…. 

  
  


_“…What if they could destroy their fears with their own two hands_ …. _”_

  
  


San looks up from the incomplete story and resumes observing their surroundings. He’s on guard for any sudden trouble, trying to multitask and make sense of all of this. He feels his energy depleting with each passing second. 

“Do we have to find the real hourglass out of all these fake ones or something?” Wooyoung proposes. 

San returns Wooyoung’s anxious gaze. “…I think we need to find our own hourglass….” 

San is guessing that this will be the final test of their memories, that is, if they won’t additionally have to do a boss battle with the King or anything like that. 

They need to find the hourglasses that correspond to them, the ones that served as their own personal portal. San can assume that he and Wooyoung need to search for the one that they shared together. 

What _are_ all of these hourglasses though…. Are they the hourglasses that belonged to each and every person who has ever found _The Octarchy Princes_ and who has journeyed into the fantasyland over time and generations? 

San can sense that they’re all low on stamina, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the magic in this place is now trading memories for memories. Now that they’ve regained their recollections of the real world, they’re having trouble recalling what their hourglasses in this imaginary world ever looked like. 

Not a single eye is dry by the time they all rally at the heart of the library with their findings. 

San can’t even begin to guess how long it took them to scour the room and sort through all of the timepieces. Everything has been misty, he barely remembers communicating with anyone, he only knows that he and Wooyoung snapped at each other several times, he felt the fragile wire between them tensing. 

All of them are fairly certain that they found their respective hourglasses; they’re panting at this point, disturbed and perspiring, holding their fears in their hands. 

Hongjoong’s looks heavy, he’s clasping onto it with both fists, and the white sand inside of his is flowing in the same manner as a snowglobe.

Seonghwa’s is sleek and slender with sand a softened silver like pixie dust. 

An electric ocean-blue is sifting in Yunho’s, and the object consists of just the floating glass, with no base or any sort of metal or wood keeping it together. 

Yeosang is holding a gorgeous hourglass, the elaborate copper handles befitting for its red sand. 

Mingi’s has baby-blue sand and it fits perfectly atop his palm. 

The largest of the bunch is Jongho’s, filled with a rich purple sand. He has it hoisted up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Yeosang isn’t the only one staring at Jongho’s biceps protruding underneath the sleeves of his tailcoat. 

“Uh, okay, why aren’t we transporting?” Wooyoung gripes. 

San looks down at the hourglass in his own grasp. 

He sees the glimmering gold sand that he has always seen, but now there are swirls of black sand, too. The dark particles dance with the gold, but the two different pigments are starting to separate towards opposite ends. 

In the sand dune, San sees his worst fear; being abandoned, being forgotten, being isolated. 

He’s so comfortable being lonely though. He may never understand why these notions are so tender for him when he is convinced that he has always been fine on his own. 

Wooyoung doesn’t want to touch it, doesn’t even want to look at it, and when he does glimpse at it he winces in pain and curses under his breath. As curious as San is, he will not ask Wooyoung what he sees inside of their hourglass… as curious as San has been about it ever since they first started coming here, every damn day after his shift at work. 

While he continues laboring to catch his breath, San rotates the hourglass, taking a closer look at it, and this is when he finds the words that are carved along the base: 

  
  
  


_Letting go will not destroy you._

  
  
  


San is certain he knows what they must do.

He only wonders if everybody else’s hourglasses are etched with different phrases, or the same one, or none at all, and if he’ll ever get to find out.

Wooyoung is up on his tiptoes, narrowing his eyes over San’s shoulder with a sour expression. 

San studies Wooyoung’s face. He looks aware, he seems to catch the drift. Essentially, they need to destroy what attempted to destroy them. 

Timid, Wooyoung reaches out and places a cold hand on one of the handles of the sand-filled portal.

San gives Wooyoung one more affirming look before turning towards the rest of their crew. 

“…Do you guys want to see the world?”

He trusts that the others will follow their example.

The library of San’s wildest dreams doesn’t deserve a proper farewell. He places his free hand on Wooyoung’s waist, and right as San’s eyes close, he and Wooyoung count to three. They let go of their hourglass, and the flimsy ornament shatters at their feet.

  
  


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Wooyoung hears a voice within. 

  
  


“ _Open your eyes_ ….”

  
  


He stirs awake, and he knows right away that he’s in the Choi library. It’s been a while since Wooyoung was last lying on these attic floorboards.

He feels fatigued, but no longer ill. Which is great because that felt like hell.

San came back. San came back for them. For Wooyoung.

Wooyoung is impatient for his eyes to focus, he’s desperate for a sense of security and control. Half-lidded, he looks at San, sprawled out on his left; the face Wooyoung thought he’d never see again, the kindred spirit he thought he lost. 

Inside of their circumstances, Wooyoung has felt both regretful and stubborn, and just misplaced. His head still hurts, but not as badly as it did back in that realm. 

Crackling and whorling through the dusky attic is the static noise of the record player. Wooyoung sees the book and a torch light resting on the floor in between him and San.

He can just barely lift his head, but he sees six other individuals with them, too. 

No one seems too alarmed, really. Just dazed, almost in a faint quality of peace. 

The others are in regular clothes. 

Seonghwa’s royal garb has been replaced by a fuzzy bisque cardigan that he has on over a button-down, along with plaid trousers and a belt with a vintaged buckle.

Yeosang’s turtleneck is layered underneath a steel-blue sweater and tucked into a high-waisted pant. And lying next to him is Jongho, who’s sporting a matching ensemble with a tawny vest and tie. 

Yunho is wearing a pair of fitted trousers and a hickory mock-neck sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and Mingi is in an oversized mulberry cable-knit. Situated on the bridge of his nose are glasses with rounded frames. 

Hongjoong is in an emerald-green blazer, his loafers are falling apart, and his ears are covered in piercings. And, to Wooyoung’s surprise, Hongjoong’s hair is no longer brunette, it’s a striking silver-blonde, much like the sand of Seonghwa’s hourglass. 

Yeosang’s hair is different, too. His long blonde locks are now short and an alluring black.

Everyone else looks about the same though; they’re all here, they’re safe, they’re the people Wooyoung has come to know and adore. 

With a moan, Wooyoung reaches out to grab the hardback version of the story, the only copy left of its kind. 

And once again, Wooyoung feels unreservedly blindsighted by what he beholds. 

_The Octarchy Princes_ is a regular book now, titled _Once Upon A Time_ …. 

It looks to be a compilation of fables, featuring authors like Hans Christian Andersen and The Brothers Grimm. 

With eyes hazy, Wooyoung looks from the storybook to the foggy little attic window. There’s a fluffy snowfall outside. 

  
  


… _Their return to a winter sky_ ….

  
  


It’s not technically winter yet on the calendar, but it is snowing. Wooyoung notices San gazing silently out the window too. 

Not a minute later, San is up on his feet, faster than any of them can regain their full consciousness. 

He runs a hand through his hair, approaches the record player, and in one brisk motion San lifts the vinyl record off of the device and snaps it in half. 

“Okay then, damn,” Wooyoung mutters. 

A lot of groaning fills their space as the rest of the group brings themselves up to exhausted sitting positions. 

“What… what day is it?” Yunho asks. 

Wooyoung’s limbs feel like jelly as he fishes in his pocket for his phone. And all he can do is blink at what the screen is telling him. It’s November 17, 2018.

An overwhelming surge of emotion shakes at the shackles on Wooyoung’s heart, it almost chokes him. Light-switch tears start streaming down his face, and he dabs them with his sleeve. Wooyoung will have more time to spend with his grandmother, a whole extra year to relive and appreciate with her. He tries to recall what he would’ve been doing on this night last year on the 17th of November. 

Speechless, Wooyoung holds his phone out for everyone else to see. 

“…Why did we go back in time? It was 2019 when Wooyoung and I… you know,” San says.

“I think 2018 was when I first came here,” Jongho says after clearing a scratch in his throat. 

San hums in reply. “2018 was the date on your diary entries that I found.” 

“Smart as hell, keeping a diary,” Yeosang murmurs. 

Jongho shrugs at him. “It wasn’t much of an uplifting read, I was super mentally unstable at the time.”

In a sudden epiphany, Hongjoong turns his head to look at Seonghwa, who’s slouched by his side. The two of them stare at one another, their mouths ajar as though they believe they’re still slumbering. 

Hongjoong yanks Seonghwa by the collar and pulls him down for a hungry, rather loud kiss, their lips clash like dandelion fluff pillows in a burning field. 

“I’ve really been wanting to fucking do that,” Hongjoong rasps when they break apart.

A small squeak is all that escapes Seonghwa’s throat at first. 

“Oh- oh my goodness,” Seonghwa exhales, looking stunned and spellbound by the tiny human draped all over him, “um- yes, m-me too.”

Seonghwa sucks in a huge breath, his cheeks a healthy red, and he leans back in to give Hongjoong a modest peck on the lips in return. 

“Wow. You’re really about to make Prince Hwa your little bitch, aren’t you,” Wooyoung says to Hongjoong. 

“I would bet my entire life savings that Prince Hwa is gonna bottom because there’s no risk at losing my money because Prince Hwa is gonna bottom,” San says. 

Wooyoung takes in the sight of Seonghwa and Hongjoong gaping and blushing beet-red. Seonghwa’s eyes are bugging out. “Oh shit, you guys know what modern things mean again, don’t you.”

“Wait,” Jongho pipes up, “did you guys know each other before you found out about the book?”

Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa shake their heads _no._

“I’ve always wanted to find my soulmate…,” Seonghwa says, and he can’t seem to look Hongjoong in the eye, all of a sudden. He’s still flushed, staring down at his lap. “…People are often two-faced, and unauthentic… it gets disheartening, after a while. I remember now, how badly I wanted to leave this place behind and search for real love.”

Hongjoong has peeled himself off of Seonghwa and is now curling himself up into a ball, probably trying to keep from screaming. 

“I found it by myself, I met Mingi… there,” Yunho tells everyone. 

Mingi nods. “Yeah, uh, I met Yunho at knight training.” 

Wooyoung can tell that Mingi almost feels silly, saying that out loud. Knight training… grand balls… princes…. 

This is actually more awkward than Wooyoung would’ve expected it to be. They all know each other from within the false utopia; they’ll kind of have to relearn each other, as if they’re meeting each other again for the first time. 

“Ah fuck, I miss Pan. I want my dragon-cat back,” Hongjoong pouts. 

In condolence, Seonghwa gives Hongjoong’s shoulder a gentle pat. 

Wooyoung finds it interesting that they’re now able to speak aloud about the details of their experiences. So far, there are no signs pointing towards any sort of magic withholding them from this. 

He also finds Yeosang interesting, and he has since day one in Crescent. Wooyoung is now eyeballing him unashamed. 

He has a lot of pretty memories, that mercifully have not been taken away from him after the time-altering adventure. Wooyoung remembers his primary school music lessons, and a boy with a violin and a perpetually runny nose. He remembers after-school snacks, and birthday parties, and pillow forts and Rock, Paper, Scissors and homemade hwachae. Wooyoung was always getting the both of them in trouble, like that one time when they skipped a day in middle school to go to the arcade….

And Wooyoung realizes that Yeosang is this long-lost childhood neighbor and best friend; a friend who he had unfortunately grown apart from during their high school days.

“Hi,” Wooyoung says to him. 

“Hey,” Yeosang replies. 

Wooyoung gives him a sad smile. “I missed you.”

They hug. 

Wooyoung explains the breakthrough to everyone, about how he and Yeosang went their separate ways over the years. 

It seems that, the longer Yeosang stayed in the story, the more Wooyoung’s memory of him was erased. Which is why Wooyoung could never quite pinpoint why he almost recognized the blonde prince. 

“I would like you all to know that San didn’t believe that you guys were real, I was the one who believed in you all along,” Wooyoung declares with a fox-like grin. 

“Woo you’re so mean…,” San huffs. And there is a layer of actual pain there in his beautiful voice. 

The expression on Wooyoung’s face falls, and he peers at San, eyes round in apology. “I’m the worst… I’m sorry.” 

San just gulps in response. Wooyoung knows that he really needs to patch things up with San after they get themselves sorted out. Sure, he apologized prior to their departure in Crescent, but he needs to apologize here in the real world, and quite honestly, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to apologize to San enough. 

“Who the hell was the masked man?” Wooyoung wonders aloud. 

“An asshole,” Jongho says. 

“I know but _who_ was he,” Wooyoung whines. 

“Was he Satan?” Mingi questions, and he actually looks concerned. 

This makes San bust a lung.

“Um, maybe?” Hongjoong says, looking like he wants to be freed from the small confines of the attic. 

“Was he the author?” Seonghwa suggests. 

“Maybe he wasn’t anyone, maybe he’s something,” Yunho says. “Maybe he’s everything that holds us back?” 

“What’s up with the whole p-word thing…,” Mingi mumbles. 

“P-word…?” San asks with eyebrows raised. 

Mingi wets his lips, hesitating as if the magic has kicked in and isn’t permitting mention of this fine detail. “Uh, you know, dirty people on the boat, swords and parrots, eyeliner, top five renaissance festival costumes, Jack Sparrow?”

“Oh _those_ p-words!” San says. 

Yunho is pinching back a grin. “I think they were just part of the lore in the story?” 

“At this point I’m thinking that we just went on a metaphorical journey and none of it meant anything definite?” Yeosang says. “Why the fuck would I ever be allowed near a throne.”

“You suited the role perfectly,” Jongho tells him.

Yeosang gives him a blank stare. “Shut up before I kiss you again.”

“Do you think that ship was abandoned because the Jack Sparrow people left their old ways behind? They let go,” Mingi further ponders. 

“I mean,” Wooyoung starts, “pirates are- wait, wait I can talk about pirates! The magic is letting me say it!”

Mingi breaks out into a smirk. “Damn, you caught me, I was just being mystical and dramatic.” 

Wooyoung glares at Mingi harmlessly before rolling his eyes. 

“Anyways, pirates are outsiders, strays, and that’s kind of how I’ve always felt until I met you guys,” Wooyoung goes on. “They’re also kind of forced- or, I guess they choose to live a certain way, in order to survive…?”

“Hey… that ship we were on… weren’t the flags raised up…?” Yunho says. “I think that black pirate flags meant that anyone who surrendered would be shown mercy….” 

Everyone breathes in awe and understanding at Yunho’s theory. 

Maybe the enchantment really is broken, and they can retell most story-related things aloud. All of these ideas that they’re coming up with seem to be positive. No one would ever believe them, anyway, regardless of an ability or inability to speak of it. A simple glance, a gleam of the eye; they can communicate this way if words ever do fail them. The eight of them can rule their own secret world together. 

“What was the deal with Hong’s butterflies,” Jongho asks.

“I don’t know but that was gay as hell,” Wooyoung says. “Looking like a goddamn fairy all the time.” 

Hongjoong is glowering. “Wooyoung I will not hesitate to bite you.”

“Save the biting for the bedroom and the fruity-ass royal sitting next to you,” Wooyoung retorts, which makes Seonghwa’s mouth pop open. 

“ _Wooyoung_ ,” Seonghwa scolds, “now that I’m no longer blinded by the bliss of my sovereignty, I must say, you are _so_ crude.”

“Yes I am and sir you are _whipped_ ,” Wooyoung says with a smirk. 

Seonghwa frowns, probably, but Wooyoung is too preoccupied now with someone launching into a theory about how butterflies symbolize transformation.

Wooyoung listens, and he lives inside of a fleeting moment that feels a lot like déjà vu.

“Why do I feel like I know you guys,” he questions. 

“Um, because you do?” Hongjoong says. 

Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at Hongjoong. “No, like, from before the story.”

“Woo I think that’s just the way you are?” San says. “You’re always moping and saying sappy shit about us all being tragic destined besties.”

“Okay but hold up- _did_ we all know each other? Were we up here getting high this whole time?” Mingi gawks as he scans everyone’s faces. 

“Oh my god were we literally doing illegal drugs up here?” Yeosang says. 

“We can rule that theory out because I would never allow it on these premises,” San states with his arms crossed over his chest. 

This far-fetched possibility is seriously tripping Wooyoung up to think about; the possibility that he knew these people before somehow….

Wooyoung tries to remember his friend group from university who he had a falling out with. Why can’t he remember the exact warmth of their voices now, and the brush of their hand…. Are these different people, sitting alongside him? He definitely didn’t meet San at university, he met San here at the library without a doubt, and Wooyoung and Yeosang’s history is unquestionable, too. But how much does it matter who they used to be? Isn’t all that matters is who they are now, and who they choose to be moving forward?

“You guys are all really hot by the way,” Wooyoung blurts out randomly.

San pinches Wooyoung’s cheek before anyone can properly answer to that and Wooyoung yelps. 

“How on earth did _you_ guys end up in this attic?” San questions the others, to which he receives a range of replies. 

“I can explain-”

“It’s a long fucking story….”

“Well I’m not proud about it-”

“I was bored out of my damn mind.” 

“I’m never telling.” 

Mingi is the last one to respond, and he chuckles nostalgically as he reclines back on his elbows. “Ah yes, good times….” 

“What the fuck,” Wooyoung deadpans. 

They converse back and forth for just a little while longer. They’re surprised to find out that Jongho is their maknae, and only partially surprised to learn that Seonghwa and Hongjoong are their hyungs.

San is very curious as to why he doesn’t recognize any of the others from a time prior to Crescent. San has worked at his family’s library since he was fourteen, and he knows the faces of library frequenters just as well as he knows the books. He’s stumped as to why he doesn’t at least have a vague recognition of any of them, if they had been coming here to sneak up into the attic. 

Wooyoung has gotten so wrapped up in their discussion, he’s nearly forgotten just how cold it is up here. There is still a lot to process and sort out. 

  
  


_The Princess and the Abandoned Item…_

_The Slumbering Princess…_

_The Water Spirit, and the voice anchored under the sea…_

  
  


The stories do fit with their encounters to a degree, but not precisely. Wooyoung wonders how the story was like for anyone else who had ever come across _The Octarchy Princes._ Wooyoung wants to know where his grandmother plays in with all of this. 

Wooyoung looks around their circle and stretches his arms above his head. 

“You guys want coffee?”

San locks up the library after they step out into the early winter.

They leave the broken vinyl record, the transfigured storybook, and Jongho’s diary in an old truck up in the attic amongst the mishmash of other random antiques. They’re all amused by the fact that the piece of furniture closely resembles a treasure chest. 

To Wooyoung, it feels like he hasn’t been home in a very long time. Too long. 

The eight of them are a somewhat slap-happy tray of ice cubes by the time they reach Wooyoung’s grandmother’s front door; a chain of linked arms with snowflakes melting in their hair. 

“…Halmeoni, are you here? Are you home?” Wooyoung calls out as he opens the door and leads the way inside. 

They convene in the entryway, and Wooyoung sees his grandmother, seated in her armchair by the fireplace reading the newspaper.

Once again, Wooyoung is arrested by a swell of neglected emotions. He stares at his grandmother through the eyes of a lost child, and he feels San’s left hand take hold of his right one. Wooyoung has to fight back tears, but he succeeds. His uncontainable smile and the encouraging squeeze of San’s hand wins.

“These are my… friends,” Wooyoung tells her, gesturing to the others who are bowing at the elderly woman. 

She’s looking up at her visitors, and she smiles a knowing smile. “So _many_ friends! Remember, it’s quality over quantity, my sweet Woo.” 

She winks at them, and invites them to make themselves at home. 

Wooyoung brews coffee and tea and he soaks up the chatter of his friends like it’s the warmest beam of springtime sun. 

He’s ready for a thrilling talk with his grandmother about this mysterious and insane experience, but, she claims that she doesn’t remember a book of the same title, even though Wooyoung insists that she was the one who told him about it in the first place. 

“Halmeoni… does magic exist?” Wooyoung settles on asking her, feeling defeated. 

She thinks for a moment, and takes a sip of her tea. “The closest I’ve ever been to magic is when I created something. Your own efforts and artistry and the work that you put out into the world is magical.”

“I used to write, just like my grandchild here,” she goes on to tell the others, “and completing a chapter of my story always felt like pure magic to me. Each new chapter in life is magic, hold on to them for what they are, cherish what you have and who you have, each day at a time.”

They all nod at her and hum in a kindly and sincere appreciation.

She places a tender hand on Wooyoung’s knee. “I am so proud of you Woo, for making new friends. Your hardships will bear fruit and the right people will always stay by your side.” 

Wooyoung is a little embarrassed by her doting and also her exposing him as the total loner and failure of a friend that he is, but he positively beams at her and scoops up one of her hands in both of his own. 

“Magic is moments in which you feel that you can truly be yourself,” she concludes with a close-eyed smile. 

Wooyoung peers around at Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, Yeosang, and San. They share smiles softer than snow. 

Once they’re thoroughly thawed and relaxed, they crowd around the piano and Wooyoung plays for them. Jongho sings along to the songs that he knows, and they all join in for a lot of them, and Wooyoung feels an unparalleled joy. Who knows, maybe someday his grandmother will stumble upon some distant memories of _The Octarchy Princes_ afterall. 

From where he’s perched on the piano’s bench, Wooyoung feels San come up behind him. San slings his arms over Wooyoung’s shoulders and loops them loosely across Wooyoung’s collarbones. Wooyoung looks up and cranes his neck back to see San’s eyes twinkling at him from upside down. 

After everything they’ve been through, Wooyoung knows that they’ll be together forever. If San will give him a second chance, he hopes that they can be together. 

After bidding Wooyoung’s grandmother goodnight and lining up to give her hugs, their group of eight spills back outside and gathers in the chill of the front yard. They say their own goodbyes for the evening, bouncing under the snowfall, pitching lazy snowballs at each other. They all promise to meet up tomorrow for dinner and drinks. 

Wooyoung’s breath recites little white cloud formations in the sundown’s air, and he suddenly feels shy, standing by San. 

He and San have kind of pulled themselves off to the side somehow, they’re swaying in front of one another just a tad bit apart from the others now, and Wooyoung can’t stop tangling his fingers with San’s in new and unmapped ways. 

“I’m proud of you, too, by the way,” San says quietly, being the first to pierce through their shared silence. 

“…She really loves you, I’m glad I got to meet her,” San says.

Wooyoung has only managed to wiggle himself closer to San’s chest and hide himself in the spot near San’s cute freckles. San’s whisper in Wooyoung’s ear is a vow that Wooyoung feels he really doesn’t deserve. 

“You’re not alone, Woo. We’ll get through everything together.”

Wooyoung can’t believe what he’s hearing, really. Why is San still here. Why isn’t he turning on his heel and walking down the street into the fog and leaving Wooyoung in a permanent blizzard. 

“You’re too good to me… please forgive me,” Wooyoung says when he lifts his head in search of San’s gaze. Wooyoung places cautious arms up and around the back of San’s neck.

San leans into this, and his arms land in a very natural encompass on Wooyoung’s waist, and he alternates between looking Wooyoung in the eye, and dragging his vision down to Wooyoung’s lips. 

“You really fucked me up, Wooyoung… I know I already said it, and I need to move on from it, but I just… I’ve been a _wreck._ I don’t want to fight with you and I don’t want anyone to leave again, I don’t think I’ll survive it if it happens again… I’m so afraid of being without y-you….”

Wooyoung cups San’s cheeks, and just barely stifles the cry that trembles up his throat. “God I’m sorry… _god_ I’m sorry for everything… I’m sorry for not choosing you….”

San places his hands on top of Wooyoung’s, and does not speak. 

“I’m sorry… please help me get better? I want to be better, for you,” Wooyoung says, just above a whisper. 

“…You better be sorry, you’re such a brat…,” San mutters, and the corners of his mouth tug upwards, and it’s sleepy like the flowers in that meadow of theirs. 

Wooyoung can’t help but smirk as well and he scrunches his nose. “You’re a brat too? I was trying to give you my love but you wouldn’t take it….”

“I’m sorry for being so weird,” San says, biting his bottom lip. 

“You’re not weird. Who told you that,” Wooyoung says. 

“Everyone… most everyone has told me that,” is San’s murmur. 

Wooyoung thinks that the snowflakes stippled on San’s hair is the prettiest thing, and he strokes a thumb back and forth on San’s crestfallen cheek. 

“Well fuck them….”

He doesn’t have to go far in order to kiss the flaxen librarian; he’s right here in Wooyoung’s arms, San has been here all along, and Wooyoung presses in and kisses him with his whole heart and San tastes like too much coffee creamer. How did Wooyoung get so lucky. San is brilliant, he’s a knight in shining armor, he’s a prince. 

Wooyoung is kissing his quirky best friend, in real life, in the real world, and San is kissing him back with the most sensitive and purest of fellow feelings.

It’s fucking cold out but San’s lips are so warm, San’s nose is so soft, Wooyoung feels rosy rosy rosy. Their balance isn’t the greatest, but San just grips onto Wooyoung’s hips even harder and Wooyoung is moaning into San’s mouth like the lovesick fool that he is and San responds by tilting his head in the opposite direction and bringing their tongues together, slowly. 

Okay. _Okay._ Wooyoung might need his friends to go take his grandmother out to karaoke or someplace for a few hours so that he and San can go back inside and use the guest bedroom. 

They part when they can no longer breathe, and the weather feels refreshing all of a sudden. 

“So like are we boyfriends now?” Wooyoung asks, faint. 

San kisses the mole below Wooyoung’s eye and his reply comes out feather-light. “…Yeah, wanna be your boyfriend I guess.”

Wooyoung is so, so dizzy. He thinks that the others have dipped by now, he vaguely heard Yeosang saying something about this being rated LGBT and needing to go home. 

“San? Wooyoung?”

Their heads turn at the same time, and it’s Seonghwa’s sweet voice that called out for their attention. 

“Hongjoong wants to tell us something…,” Seonghwa says on behalf of the individual hunching by his side. 

The four of them shuffle closer together, but Wooyoung doesn’t dare let go of his latch around San. 

“Um, hi,” Hongjoong utters, “I just- want you guys to be aware, I guess… November 2018… uh, without going into too much detail, this was right around the time when things got bad for me at home….” 

Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa stare at him unblinking. 

Hongjoong inhales. “The story helped me when I felt unsafe at home. I found the attic when I was looking for a place to stay for the night. I don’t have a car to sleep in and I was terrified of sleeping out on the streets… so I hid in the library after it closed.” 

“Was someone hurting you,” Seonghwa asks, and he sounds actually fucking pissed off, he looks ready to uppercut a bitch and curse a motherfucker out. 

Hongjoong glances up at him. “Not physically, but mentally and emotionally yes.”

“…Thanks for trusting us enough to tell us about this, Hongjoongie,” San says, and it sounds like he wants to say more, but he leaves it at that for now.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung nod in agreement, surveying Hongjoong’s countenance with care. 

Hongjoong simply bobs his head at them while staring down at the snow beneath his threadbare loafers, and then he turns to Wooyoung. 

“Could I maybe stay here with you tonight, Wooyoung? Just for one night, until I sort out how fucking crazy all of this is, I promise-”

“You could stay with me if you want,” Seonghwa offers softly. 

He and Hongjoong look at each other again. It’s a very syrupy and sentimental gaze and Wooyoung almost gags but he decides that it would probably be hypocritical of him or whatever to do all that. It’s clear that Hongjoong wanted to ask Seonghwa but was too bashful to do so directly. 

“You can totally stay the night with me here at Halmeoni’s, or at my share house, I live just a few blocks away. Neither place is big enough for all of us though,” Wooyoung tells Hongjoong. 

“My home is large,” Seonghwa says. 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

Hongjoong lets out a small sigh of relief and shoves his anxious hands into the pockets of his blazer. “Thank you, thank you guys so much.”

“Of course Hongjoong, you’re safe with us,” Seonghwa assures him, and Wooyoung concurs with that completely. 

Wooyoung knows that there isn’t anything that the seven of them wouldn’t do in order to protect their precious Hongjoong. Hongjoong may no longer have his guardian butterflies, but he has a found family that would become full-on pirates for him if need be. 

“Am I invited?” San whines. 

“No, me and Hong are gonna cuddle Prince Hwa all night and you can’t come,” Wooyoung says, sticking his nose up in the air. 

San puts him in a headlock and starts tickling him. 

“I’m _kidding_ ,” Wooyoung giggles, elongating his voice. “Everyone’s invited, right, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa nods. Sheepish, he teeters into Hongjoong’s side, embracing him, and Hongjoong lets him and nuzzles his cheek into Seonghwa’s chest. Seonghwa looks down fondly at the crown of Hongjoong’s head. 

“Wait, is your place big enough for me and Sannie to have our own room? Asking for a friend,” Wooyoung says. 

“Gross,” Hongjoong mumbles. 

Wooyoung glares at him. “Oh shut up horny Cinderella.”

“No, no, we should all sleep together,” Seonghwa suggests. 

San’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _What?_ ”

“No!” Seonghwa wheezes. “No, not like that, I- I meant that it would be good wholesome fun for us to have a slumber party together.”

Wooyoung and San are not letting this slide. They cackle at Seonghwa in the most loving way possible. 

“Stop bullying my prince,” Hongjoong is yowling. 

“Okay, well, someone text the others and invite them too,” Wooyoung says after recovering from his fit of laughter. 

A beat of silence passes them by. 

And it dawns on them that none of them, apart from San and Wooyoung, have each other’s phone numbers. Wooyoung hasn’t had an up-to-date phone number of Yeosang’s in years. 

Wooyoung, San, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa stare at one another. Their smiles grow like singing trees. And they take off running. 

They run down the darkened street to catch up with their other half, the snow kissing their faces, welcoming them back home. It’s sharp, it’s bittersweet; this is real life.

They run, to let the others know that they’re not ready to say goodbye yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS sorry I pulled an ambiguous ending on yall 😭 I was trying to say way too much with this lol but in a nutshell: sometimes good things are bad things in disguise, but at the very same time, bad things can sometimes end up being good things in disguise? most of my hardships have been blessings in disguise and it’s WILD
> 
> I wanted to keep the king mysterious because it’s like, did he set them up to hurt them, or did he actually help them by giving them the opportunities to overcome their obstacles? the darkness, all of the fear/confusion is gonna lead to something good and better someday. and it’s scary to face your fears or take steps toward change, but I personally rlly do believe that the light will ALWAYS overpower the darkness 🌟💖🌟💖🌟
> 
> PLS THO if you wanted more tangible answers feel free to kindly ask them and I’ll try my best to let you know more about what was going on in my head as I wrote this story lol!! 💖💖 you guys had such awesome questions along the way and theories that are way cooler than anything I could come up with!!! 😭💕💕
> 
> also bonus atiny points for any of u who caught what the colors of the sand in their hourglasses represent (I THINK/HOPE I GOT THE COLORS RIGHT???) hahaha 👀
> 
> aaand speaking of bonus I hope you enjoy the bonus chapter (that’s going up RN!) featuring awkward losers smooching! 👏
> 
> I’ll have more parting words & thank yous in the notes over on that chapter! 🥰
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


	9. Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hi there welcome to the ✨bonus chapter✨  
> there’s some NSFW content ahead!  
> mostly in the seongjoong section  
> \+ a sprinkle in the woosan section  
> enjoy!!! 🥰

**_the trees sing for you_ **

<><><><><><><><>

_(sometime after The Sleeping Beauty & before The Voice of The Sea) _

  
  


Yunho doesn’t want this feeling to ever end.

It’s a windblown afternoon in the wake of an invigorating round of archery lessons out on the palace grounds, and Yunho is now ambling through the woods shoulder to shoulder with Sir Mingi. 

A note from the King was delivered to the pair of them, instructing them to patrol the enchanted forest for the hour. Lately, there have been rumors drifting around the kingdom about pirate sightings. Yunho has always been under the impression that pirates are prowlers who are only told of in legends, but the King seemed serious about it in his official orders. 

It’s a rather ordinary day, but Yunho finds himself in one of his better moods. Mingi makes ordinary days feel extraordinary. 

After Mingi’s recovery from the spinning wheel’s curse, Yunho appreciates his presence more than ever. 

These days, Mingi likes to experiment with moving his singing voice fast, like the vocalists in the songs that Wooyoung plays from his device known as a Smartphone. Mingi’s voice is gruff and valiant, it’s a very different style of poetry compared to Jongho’s, and it’s very entertaining to listen to. And Yunho finds it quite attractive, too. 

It’s windy, but it’s gorgeous out here in the mossy greenwood, the sun is high and unveiled. Yunho has a collection of surreal and distant memories from a time in which he couldn’t see the sun and the moon. He’s not certain, it might’ve just been in a dream, but it feels like this clouded time could’ve been a while ago. Something happened to him… was he ill and bedridden, maybe? He can’t recall entirely, but he has this faraway reminiscence of feeling better than ever one day, and then he saw the sun and the moon for the first time. 

Yunho loves Crescent Kingdom, and he loves both day and night here. He loves the power that the sunlight gives him, and he loves the rest that the moonlight provides. And he loves having someone by his side who he can share all times of day with. 

Mingi is now rapid-singing something about fluttering heartbeats, a hopeful horizon, and time of love. 

“Do you like Hongjoong,” Yunho blurts. 

Mingi turns to look at Yunho with eyebrows lifted, and he stops his poetry. Their footsteps taper off in unison, and they stand beneath the canopy of a marshmallow blossom tree. 

Mingi inhales. “Hongjoong…?”

“Yes, our little mushroom friend, Hongjoong,” Yunho says. 

Mingi shuffles in place and opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Of course I like him… but if you mean to imply-”

“You never asked me how I broke the spell,” Yunho utters, his mouth a tad dry.

Mingi blinks. 

“You should ask me how I broke the spell,” Yunho tells him.

Mingi’s brows are now quirking up in curiosity. “So… how exactly did you break the spell?” 

“I kissed you,” Yunho confesses, and he proceeds to hold his breath. 

Mingi juts his head forward in disbelief, and he looks around a bit, as if a squirrel or someone might’ve heard the news and is now scampering on its way to spread the secret around the entire kingdom. 

“We read about the remedy in a book…,” Yunho explains, “…it said that if the feeling inside of the kiss was… sufficient, then the spell would be broken.”

Yunho isn’t even sure why he’s telling Mingi all of this. For a good long while he thought that he had decided to keep what happened confidential between himself and the six others. But it’s like he has this nagging desire to be even closer to Mingi, he enjoys Mingi’s presence so much, he can’t get enough. 

Also, Wooyoung and San’s affectionate mannerisms and behaviors are really starting to rub off on the rest of them. Now that Mingi has returned to a conscious state of being, Yunho has been thinking that he needs to kiss his fellow knight before anybody else does. 

At this point, Mingi is blushing a fair amount, but, to Yunho’s relief, he doesn’t appear to be disgusted or anything. 

“If you kissed me again… would it reverse…?” Mingi asks Yunho carefully. “Would it put me back to sleep?”

Yunho scans his friend’s face, and he doesn’t dare shy away now; he’s come too far. “Do you want to find out?”

After a pause, Mingi nods. 

When Yunho steps forward, he does not feel attached to his own body, he feels lighter than the spring that’s been in his step all day. He charges into Mingi’s space, and without knowing exactly what he’s doing, Yunho leans in until he feels the tip of Mingi’s nose on his skin; soft, and a little bit cold. 

Yunho forgets to breathe before he presses in further, but it all happens too fast, Mingi’s lips are not of this world, they’re so satiny, and supple, and when Yunho tilts his head, Mingi’s bottom lip ends up in between both of his own. 

“You still awake…?” Yunho asks as he peels himself away just a touch, slightly concerned with how still Mingi is holding. 

“Yes… but I nearly did lose consciousness,” Mingi replies with eyes half-open and a hazy grin. 

Yunho’s smile conquers him. He dips back in for more, and they’re hastily finding how their faces fit together. Mingi’s hands are gentle gauntlets on both of Yunho’s cheeks. Yunho has searing hands on either side of Mingi’s neck, and he wants to explore deeper in Mingi. This isn’t at all like the dainty kiss on the top of a princess’s hand in fables, this is bordering on messy and if they keep going they may start breathing fire.

They’re practically wrestling now to pin each other up against the nearest tree. Their armor makes a racket under the strain, and Yunho wins.

Yunho can’t help but wonder what it would be like to do this without their armor on; without their chainmail, even. What if they were back at the castle in the knight’s quarters, with the only barrier between them being their linen nightwear? 

The thought is almost too much for Yunho to bear. He lacks the ability to process the new sounds that are surfacing from the both of them as their mouths crash together once more. 

“It’s like a joust!” Yunho gasps on Mingi’s lips, adrenaline coursing through his veins even more so than it was at their training earlier. 

“…We all know that I’m a better jouster than you,” Mingi smirks, somewhat bashful. 

Yunho pulls a face at him. 

With shaky breath, they kiss slower, simpler this time. And when they draw apart, they take this moment to truly gaze at one another. Yunho thinks that Mingi is the sweetest soul. Mingi is Yunho’s joy. 

“…Do you think we will be punished…?” Yunho asks, and he doesn’t know exactly how to put it into words, but he means to refer to a lot more than what they’re just doing right here and now. 

Mingi gives this rather solemn question some thought, but his answer is better than anything Yunho could’ve ever asked to hear. 

“Maybe if we just act natural, people will accept it?”

Yunho bobs his head at this as he’s peering down at Mingi’s lips, and, imitating Mingi’s free-spiritedness, he gives a little shrug before smiling into another kiss. 

Yunho wants to kiss Mingi everywhere, and so he starts to. He leaves puckered stamps on Mingi’s nose, Mingi’s cheeks, and he starts a whole series on Mingi’s neck. Mingi holds him there while cooing in approval, Yunho feels a warm hand on the back of his head. 

But their newfound bliss is rudely interrupted when they hear a rustling in the bushes nearby; someone, or someones, slinking this way. 

Pirates.

_“Halt!”_

The knights draw their weapons. Yunho tries to snap out of the spell that Mingi put him under as quickly as he can. 

Through the blurring thicket, Yunho and Mingi chase down the unidentified movement. 

They’re not too far behind; the runaways seem to be a team of two individuals who are shorter than their pursuers. 

Yunho is about to risk making a fool out of himself by lunging at one of them in hopes of seizing their ankles and tackling them to the ground, but they spill out into a clearing and in an instant Yunho recognizes the backsides of none other than Wooyoung and San. 

“Woo? Sannie?” Mingi shouts out in surprise, and he ceases his sprint.

All four of them come to a stop, half groaning half laughing at themselves as they catch their breath. 

“Why were you running away from us?” Yunho questions them. 

“Because you guys were literally chasing us and you have your swords out, put that shit away,” Wooyoung gripes. 

“Oh! Sorry,” Yunho chuckles, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. 

“Wooyoung, San, I was practicing my rap,” Mingi says. 

“Nice! Wanna meet up with Hongjoong and see if he wants to practice too?” San asks him. 

Mingi beams. “I would love that.”

Yunho knows that he needs to get better at being okay. 

He needs to find a way to get better at feeling less selfish, and envious, and he can’t keep falling into a trap of self-pity at the drop of a hat like this. Just because he and Mingi are best friends, doesn’t mean that he has to do everything that Mingi does. Yunho absolutely adores Hongjoong, so he doesn’t understand why he gets a sour feeling in his tummy when Hongjoong gets to relate to Mingi in ways that Yunho does not. Yunho doesn’t enjoy the feeling at all, so he will get better at sorting out these tangled emotions. He will become brave enough to be better than this. 

Mingi notices right away that Yunho is downhearted about their alone time coming to an end.

Yunho watches Mingi peek up ahead at Wooyoung and San who are leading the way out of the forest. When Mingi looks back at Yunho, he offers him the most understanding and reassuring of smiles before dipping back in by his side. Mingi snakes an arm around Yunho’s waist, and plants a dashing kiss on the apple of Yunho’s cheek. 

Yunho grins at Mingi as their fingers lace together, and he hopes that the gleam in his eyes is enough to tell a whole love story. 

And the knights walk on in the sunlight to trail behind their friends, their armor clanking like music, strong and impenetrable the same as their bond. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Throne_ **

_ <><><> _

_(sometime after The Crescent Crossroad)_

  
  


It’s blues and purples outside tonight, and Prince Yeosang is up in his tower, being emotional. 

San left them, and Wooyoung is ill. 

And apparently San isn’t the only one who disappeared from Crescent; the castle has been empty ever since their return from the sea. Yeosang kind of prefers it this way though, so he’s not about to waste energy trying to figure out how to bring any of the maddening noblemen and townspeople back. 

His solid-gold bedchambers are still here, and there’s still food in the royal kitchens. For the time being, he’s just chilling. 

It’s a cool evening, but a starless evening. Yeosang likes the sound of the night. He enjoys fathomless time to think about nothing. He didn’t know he was capable of being scared of the dark.

In the courtyard down below, Yeosang sees Sir Mingi and Sir Yunho bidding Jongho goodnight. Yeosang left everyone at Wooyoung’s noisy bedside several hours ago when he was developing a temple headache. 

The knights are now heading back indoors, and Jongho is walking around this side of the fortress, near Yeosang’s turret. 

Is his route purposeful? Probably not, but since the sonneteer is coming this way, Yeosang might as well do something about it. 

Ducking back into his room, Yeosang searches nearby until his eyes settle on a paperweight resting atop his writing desk. 

He returns to his post with the object in hand, and he throws it down. It shatters a safe distance away from Jongho, but it’s still plenty enough to catch his attention. 

Jongho stops in his tracks and gazes up at the individual in the tower, whose hair is caught in the light wind. 

The prince tries to stay hushed, yet audible. 

“My violin string snapped,” Yeosang lies. “I need your magic.” 

It’s a handful of minutes later when a knock echoes through the silence, to which Yeosang hauls open his massive double doors. With a bow, Jongho steps over the threshold of Yeosang’s candlelit bedchambers, and he keeps low his already very soft speaking voice. 

“Prince Yeosang, you are aware that a violin repair is an entirely manual fix that can be done without magic, aren’t you?”

“Would you like some tea?” Yeosang asks, evading his remark after a beat. 

“I taught myself how to brew tea recently. I don’t need those high-strung handmaids constantly serving my every demand,” Yeosang blathers as he prepares refreshments for him and his visitor. 

Soon enough, he arranges a garnished tray on his jewel-encrusted tea table, alongside armchairs for two. 

“Please, have a seat,” he says to Jongho. 

Jongho smiles his signature smile, truly the most pleasant of smiles. “Ah, after you, your majesty.”

“No, no, you are my guest,” Yeosang insists. 

Jongho sits down. 

“Break that chair for me, would you?” Yeosang says, pointing to the empty seat opposite of Jongho’s. 

Jongho stares at him open-mouthed. “…I beg your pardon?”

“Break the chair,” Yeosang restates. 

Jongho obliges, extending an arm and delivering a short incantation that makes the legs of the chair splinter and collapse. 

“Oh no, the chair is broken, where ever shall I sit?” Yeosang says. 

Jongho eyeballs a cluster of spare chairs within reach, and then he smirks. 

“You may sit on my legs if you wish, my liege.” 

Yeosang plunks down on Jongho’s lap and slings his arms around the back of Jongho’s neck. Discreet, Jongho situates one hand on Yeosang’s hip, and the other on Yeosang’s thigh. 

Jongho sighs. “Such a shame, it was a beautiful chair.”

“It was a boring old chair, nothing to fret over. I much prefer this seat,” Yeosang says with his head held high. 

“On the pirate ship… why did you kiss me?” Jongho asks out of the blue. 

“To give you your voice back,” is Yeosang’s unhurried answer. 

Jongho takes a minute to survey the prince’s sculptured face. “May I serenade you with a sonnet, your majesty?”

At this, Yeosang bites down on his lower lip. His heart beats out of sync, in a way of regret, and he has to look away from the sonneteer while he speaks.

“…I’m afraid of hurting you, I may not react in a way that others would, or in a way that would be appropriate under the circumstances? It’s hard to explain… I’m afraid my expression will be cold, when you deserve nothing but warmth.” 

“I’m not so sure that I understand, your majesty…?” Jongho responds. 

“I don’t understand it either, truthfully,” Yeosang mumbles. “But I can assure you that whatever the hell Prince Seonghwa is, I am quite possibly the exact opposite.”

“That is quite alright, it’s not Prince Seonghwa whom I have eyes for,” Jongho says, but he quickly repents for his choice of words.

“My apologies, your highness, that was bold of me.” 

“I only mean to say that whoever you decide you are, I will accept regardless. I will accept you and enjoy your presence no matter what and I will respect your boundaries,” Jongho concludes with a slight crack in his voice at the tail end. 

“Ah, is your voice still on the mend?” Yeosang questions, giving Jongho a soft smile in return for his heartfelt thoughts. 

“Perhaps,” Jongho replies. “Perhaps some of it is still left on your lips.”

Yeosang cannot help but smirk.

“You are rather bold, Jongho.” 

The prince keeps one arm wrapped along the backside of Jongho’s shoulders, and he takes Jongho’s chin into his other hand. 

And he tilts Jongho’s face upwards as their lips meet in a steady and savory kiss. 

“…Did that help?” Yeosang asks as he pulls back, his eyelids flickering open halfway. 

Jongho nods at this, and he looks bewitched. 

“You are not allowed to be here right now, and for some reason that is thrilling,” Yeosang says.

“Tell me about yourself, where did you come from?” Jongho puts forward eagerly. 

“You are the first person to ask that,” Yeosang responds. “Nobody here has ever seemed interested in getting to know one another.”

“We come from a different realm, don’t we?” Jongho says.

Yeosang hums in intrigue and accord. “I believe so, I believe it has something to do with my memory being fucked.”

“What if together we overthrow the King,” Jongho conspires. 

“…You and I?” Yeosang all but whispers.

Jongho’s eyes are like the surface of moonlit waters. “You and I.”

In thought, Yeosang croons some more and massages a thumb on the sonneteer’s silken cheekbone. 

“We could… or we could just continue with allowing havoc to break loose so that Wooyoung and San can learn valuable life lessons.”

Jongho’s smile sings, Yeosang can practically hear it.

“Fair enough.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_a dream is a wish your heart makes_ **

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

_(sometime after The Crescent Crossroad)_

  
  


“It’s an honor to return to your charming bedchambers,” Prince Seonghwa chirps. 

He’s holding his arms neatly behind his back, and he’s rocking to and fro on the balls of his feet. 

Hongjoong finds it odd, being in the presence of the prince without any accompanying royal guards whatsoever. Mingi and Yunho would’ve escorted him today, but they were intent on staying behind with Wooyoung, who is still feeling terribly under the weather.

It has been such a melancholy mood lately due to recent events, but they’re coping, and Prince Seonghwa seems cheerful and proud to be out on an errand on his own. 

He and Hongjoong are upstairs in Hongjoong’s room. Hongjoong is gathering tools for taking the prince’s measurements and for sketching ideas for designs, and he’s trying not to trip over his own leg or anything. 

Hongjoong isn’t sure if he believes in soulmates. But there’s something in the way that their eyes keep catching on each other, like a magnetism between planets. It’s as if they’re keeping an eye on each other to see if they remember one another from somewhere, as if they’ve met before somehow; as if they’re checking to see if they’re an accurate replica of the person in their dreams.

With measuring tape in hand, Hongjoong stands in front of Prince Seonghwa. A simple ivory poet blouse hangs on his broad shoulders, but the fabric is exquisite, Hongjoong can’t help but admire the craftsmanship. 

“The materials that I have will not be as fine as the ones that your royal seamstresses use,” Hongjoong warns him. 

Prince Seonghwa smiles until his eyes close, kind of like how a cat does when it’s at peace. “That is not an issue. I’m so eager to don the work of your hand! I just hope that my body line will do it justice.”

Hongjoong just stares a him blankly because is he fucking joking. 

Hongjoong starts off easy and, after receiving permission, begins by measuring the length of Prince Seonghwa’s arms. Following each measurement, Hongjoong jots the numbers down on a piece of parchment.

Dropping down to a kneeling position, Hongjoong adjusts himself in front of Prince Seonghwa’s legs in order to measure his inseam, and he’s focused less on the numbers and more so on the shape underneath the fabric right within his eyeshot. 

Hongjoong is staring directly at it, and when he peers up at the prince, it only ignites a succession of cloddish blushing as Prince Seonghwa gazes down at him on his knees.

Hongjoong is trying not to think about what it would be like if Prince Seonghwa reached down and raked his fingers through his hair and coaxed his face closer so that Hongjoong could mouth at his-

“Hongjoong…?” Prince Seonghwa says in dreamy concern. 

Hongjoong scrambles back up to his feet and moves right along with measuring Prince Seonghwa’s waist. It’s rather small; doesn’t he eat well? Hongjoong is going to keep his mouth shut because he’s honestly pretty terrified of what might come tumbling out if he doesn’t. Hongjoong does not trust himself around this particular friend of his. 

Next, Hongjoong wraps the measuring tape under the prince’s arms and around his chest. Prince Seonghwa cups his hands on Hongjoong’s elbows as he works. 

“Ah… this reminds me of when we camped in the forest, when I held you during our slumber,” Prince Seonghwa reminisces. 

Hongjoong offers a faint grunt in reply. 

The pauper’s wavy hair falls a bit in his eyes, and this doesn’t slip past Prince Seonghwa’s perception. 

After the prince reaches out to fix Hongjoong’s hair, he drags his hand down to Hongjoong’s cheek, which inspires the tingles that blossom all along Hongjoong’s spine. 

“Oh my… your skin is so soft, Hongjoong,” Prince Seonghwa comments. 

Hongjoong thinks that his jaw might’ve just broken because it’s kind of just hanging now. 

Prince Seonghwa seems worried for Hongjoong’s health, too. “Hongjoong, you’re feverish, I’m worried, I’m-”

“No no, your majesty, I am fine, you- you tend to make me warm,” Hongjoong says, breathless. 

“I- _I_ am the cause of your fever…?” Prince Seonghwa questions. 

“Yes, my prince,” Hongjoong admits after a sweltering moment. 

“Prince- Prince Seonghwa,” he corrects himself, because that was maybe a little too… intimate. 

“I’m terribly sorry…,” Hongjoong apologizes with head held low when Seonghwa says nothing.

“No, it’s quite alright, you may call me that,” the prince says, and his voice is so light and so blithesome. 

“…My prince?” Hongjoong says, peeking up at him. 

“Yes… please… won’t you call me that…?” is Prince Seonghwa’s longing request. 

“My Prince…,” Hongjoong trails off. 

He forgets about his assignment.

One of Seonghwa’s hands is still holding onto Hongjoong’s arm, the other cupping Hongjoong’s florid cheek. 

Hongjoong’s eyes are lost in the details before him, the prince’s lips look blessed by dew fairies, his collarbones are touched by gold, and his eyes; these eyes are so sincere and profound, they’ve become such a comfort to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know how, but his hands have ended up gentle and flat on Seonghwa’s chest. His measuring tape slips through his fingers and lands on the floor. 

“Hongjoong… you are dear to me, may I kiss you?” Prince Seonghwa utters, his voice like a vanishing glister bug.

“K-Kiss me?” Hongjoong chokes. 

With eyebrows furrowed sweetly, Prince Seonghwa nods. “Yes, um, may I place my lips on yours.” 

Hongjoong’s eyelashes flutter, his skin flushes hotter, and he peers off to the side, timorous, but he pushes himself to face the prince once more, and he nods in return. 

Prince Seonghwa pulls Hongjoong closer, wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s waist, and before Hongjoong knows it, he’s up on his tiptoes. Prince Seonghwa closes his eyes, leans in, and presses his lips on Hongjoong’s. 

Hongjoong feels his nose get squished, and his heartbeat sprouts wings and flies so far away. 

Prince Seonghwa kisses him; his lips are full and modestly unwavering, his tongue is searching. 

Hongjoong cannot believe his life right now. They are alone together. He’s being kissed by his secret love. Hongjoong feels conducted by a wild and jolting sort of power from head to toe, as if candles could burn by an undiscovered form of energy. 

The prince’s breath is warm and divine and he moans softly into Hongjoong’s mouth. 

The prince’s hands skim down Hongjoong’s back in adoring trails. 

The prince touches his bum. Nobody has _ever_ touched his bum before. The prince is _squeezing_ his bum, and Hongjoong is sure that his fingernails are leaving markings on the sides of Prince Seonghwa’s neck. 

There is something rather hard in Prince Seonghwa’s trousers that Hongjoong can feel up against his hip bone, and there’s now a very feral and innate desire in Hongjoong to see and touch and taste what that hardness might be.

The both of them are moaning, now that their bodies are melted flush up against each other. 

Hongjoong doesn’t want to sound dumb so he racks his brain for cool words that Wooyoung and San have taught him, and their lips separate with a lewd smack. 

“My Prince you are touching my ass,” Hongjoong says. 

“Is it alright… for me to do that, darling?” Prince Seonghwa asks. He looks fucking dazed. 

“…Yes. Do you like my ass?” Hongjoong questions, staring the prince down now. 

Prince Seonghwa’s eyeballs pop out, his mouth glossy and wide open. 

“Yes, Hongjoong, I do…,” he confesses. 

“…Will you show me how much you like my ass….”

It falls from Hongjoong’s mouth like a scruffy feather from the sky. 

They nearly lose their balance, their noses clashing and caressing once again, Prince Seonghwa’s hands grabbing at the fabric of Hongjoong’s trousers. Gravity is not a thing right now, surely someone took the gravity away in Crescent Kingdom. 

“Hongjoong, darling one, may I- may I lay you down on your bed…?”

Hongjoong doesn’t even try to answer, he just stumbles backwards and tugs Prince Seonghwa over to his poor excuse for a mattress. 

They fall head over heels together, bouncing down on Hongjoong’s bed, and Hongjoong lies flat on his back as Prince Seonghwa crawls overtop him. 

“Is this- is this quite alright?” Prince Seonghwa gulps. 

When Hongjoong gives him a fervent nod, Prince Seonghwa lowers himself, and he kisses Hongjoong slow. Hongjoong bucks up into the prince, and this friction pulls the most desperate whine out of him and Seonghwa’s voice is so _low_ Hongjoong is going to lose his damn mind. His own noises harmonize and sound very high-pitched in comparison. 

In response to all of these sensations, Hongjoong twists his fingers in the prince’s inky hair for a deeper kiss that has them both keening with a startling and wanton lack of control.

Hongjoong wishes that the prince would dig harder in his hair, and pull a little. The prince is being rather gentle. Hongjoong is wondering what it would be like if he was not gentle at all. What if Prince Seonghwa of the royal Park family went completely carnal? 

“I went to the grand ball that evening because I wanted to see you,” Hongjoong blurts when they surface for air, his lungs close to collapsing. 

Awestruck, Prince Seonghwa hovers above Hongjoong, mouth wet and red, and his widened eyes slowly turn half-lidded. “The evening I fell in love….” 

“You’re so kind to me, and so handsome, I am so dizzy,” Hongjoong says and he feels as though he could sob. 

“Hongjoong, please, please, won’t you return to the palace with me tonight?” 

The prince doesn’t give Hongjoong a chance to respond, he kisses Hongjoong headlong, and Hongjoong whimpers. 

“I can show you your garden, the garden that I have been growing for you,” Prince Seonghwa continues through his heavy panting. 

Hongjoong’s reply comes out in a drawl. “…Can we kiss in the garden…?”

“Ah, I- yes?” Prince Seonghwa’s voice cracks. 

“Excellent,” Hongjoong exhales, and he grabs the back of Prince Seonghwa’s head and goes in for an unbridled kiss. 

The feeling of Prince Seonghwa’s tongue and the weight of Prince Seonghwa’s body in between Hongjoong’s legs is going to make Hongjoong reach the edge of his greatest fantasy.

“Please stay the night with me… please be mine… please be mine…,” the prince whispers on Hongjoong’s lips. 

Something in the depths of Hongjoong’s soul cries out; he did not know that he could produce sounds like this, and he cannot seem to cease with telling his prince that _this feels good._

Hongjoong hears raspy begging, _please please please_ , and his hips won’t stop squirming. 

“…I will, I will, but your majesty, will you be rough with me, please…?”

Hongjoong jerks awake from a dream that has his skin inflamed.

He’s disoriented for only a moment, and then sorely disappointed to find himself in a reality where he is not underneath a certain someone’s hot and sweaty godlike body. 

His thin bed sheet is in a disarray, and he pouts when he finds his right hand down his sleep trousers. He releases a small sob, and he frowns knowing that Wooyoung teased him about this predicament just the day prior.

“ _Fuck_.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_amicus ad aras_ **

<><><><><><>

  
  


“They might not have enough creamer in stock for that venti latte of yours,” Wooyoung teases. 

It’s on days like this, when they’ll roll out of bed at San’s apartment, and they’ll hold each other and talk about nothing, anything and everything, until noon comes around. 

San holds Wooyoung all night, every night, and San’s singing voice is so goddamn beautiful, Wooyoung will never forgive him for keeping secret such a treasured thing. Wooyoung doesn’t feel afraid anymore; he’s in good hands.

They are the most rambunctious pair when they’re in the company of their dearest friends, but they’re actually the softest of partners when they’re alone together. 

It’s on days like this, when they’ll go out and do something nearby that feels like an adventure. 

Today, it’s a trip to the beach. It’s somewhat stormy today, not the type of stormy that develops into anything severe, but there’s maybe a few low rumbles of thunder in the distance that keep most beach-goers away. 

The waters here in the real world are dull in comparison to faraway memories, but they’re still filled with magic and mystery and that makes Wooyoung smile. 

He and San walked hand in hand on the shoreline for a while and then San got his ass obliterated in the backseat of his grandfather’s old truck. They went for another round that started with Wooyoung deepthroating San’s monster cock and ended with Wooyoung riding San until he was gasping for air and singing Wooyoung’s name. 

Now they’re both fucked out for the afternoon, sunglasses on, sucking on hard candy. 

They’re taking a coffee break at a little seaside café. San is Wooyoung’s best friend. 

The two of them are seated at a table on the outdoor patio overlooking the ocean. They’re listening to the waves and the sound of the espresso machines inside, waiting for their orders to be served. 

“I wanna travel…,” Wooyoung sighs to San, “you know, normal people travel- sitting on an airplane until your ass goes numb, _not_ being enchanted and waking up in a story.” 

This makes San grin. He simply tilts his head and nods, and he reaches forward to brush Wooyoung’s fringe away from his eyes, his other hand propping his chin up. 

“I know that the library is your safe place, but I want to see the world with you,” Wooyoung mumbles, sticking his bottom lip out. 

“That’s so sweet baby,” San coos in reply, and Wooyoung swears that he’s going to fucking implode because San is the cutest most perfect human. 

Wooyoung steals one of San’s hands and aimlessly plays with his fingers. “What if next week I tell you the same exact thing after we take a rose petal bath and have a croissant-eating contest and stand on the balcony in our fancy hotel robes on a rooftop in Europe?”

“…Wooyoung…,” San says in a warning tone, but there’s a spark and a hint of wonderment there as well. 

“It’s your birthday soon, I’ve been saving for our flights. I booked a Rococo tour and some other surprises too,” Wooyoung says, and it’s true, he’s been diligently setting aside bits of his paychecks from his new part-time job as a piano teacher. 

“Wooyoung at least let me pay for my fucking flight…,” San murmurs, and it’s almost as though he doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. 

“Okay, but the hotels and every single coffee stop and candlelit dinner is on me though,” Wooyoung says with a wink. 

Wooyoung collects both of San’s hands in his own. “Will you run away with me, Choi San?”

San still seems to be wading through a wave of disbelief. 

“Did Seonghwa help you prepare for this…,” he questions, sounding doubtful. 

Wooyoung smiles behind a sip of his water and looks off to the side. 

“Where exactly are we running away to?” San asks. 

“Paris and Italy, and for two weeks,” Wooyoung informs him cheerfully. 

San groans but it’s lighthearted. “Wooyoung, how the hell are we going to get around with the language barrier?”

“Google Translate!”

“This is going to be a disaster,” San mutters. 

Wooyoung’s laughter floats through the briny air. “Don’t worry about the details! We’ll be together and it’ll be so crazy and fun!” 

“I’ll cancel the trip if you don’t want to though,” Wooyoung adds as he surveys San’s expression with care. 

San returns Wooyoung’s softened gaze, and he takes in a deep breath. 

“No, I want to go. And I love you so much. Thank you, Wooyoung…,” he says, and Wooyoung feels his heart run away ahead of them. 

“I love you too Sannie.”

They first got to know one another over coffee in the labyrinth of the library, their first time saying _I love you_ was over coffee too; a few months ago, after an especially cold winter. Although, Wooyoung is pretty sure that he remembers thinking it back before they knew each other’s names; love at first sight. 

Nobody bats an eye at the librarian and the lost boy, who giggle and smooch behind the café menu until their glasses fog up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woosan worked their shit out ig and now they’re disaster bfs traveling the world THE END GOODBYE WILL NOT CATCH ME ATTEMPTING TO WRITE PLOT EVER AGAIN LOL 😭😭😭
> 
> hashtag justice for hongjoong 😭 I can actually promise u that his character in the au that I’m currently working on WILL HAVE ALL OF HIS DREAMS COME TRUE 👍😀✨ WHICH BTW this chapter may or may not contain a SPOILER for this upcoming au that I speak of teehee haha 👀
> 
> BUT N E WAYS TYSM FOR READING THIS like every time one of u guys told me about a part that made u laugh?? I sobbed because I’m so dreadfully unfunny. whenever one of u sweet pals let me know that something in this resonated with u??? nearly punched a hole in the wall IT JUST MEANT SO MUCH TO ME any/all interactions made this such a meaningful journey!!!! 😭😭💖💖 tysm for all of the encouragement and fun times!!!! 🥺🥺🥰🥰
> 
> hope you guys are enjoying 🎇 FEVER PT. 2 🎇 + the comeback stages!!!! take care of yourselves!!!! wishing you all a happily ever after 🏰💕
> 
> <><><><><><><><>
> 
> 🐣 twt: hj_pan_cake


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